


Blue Moon Rising

by treefrogie84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief homophobia, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Self-Harm, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied Jody Mills/Bobby Singer, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Season 6 Fix-It, bed sharing, brief xenophobia, spn canon big bang 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Dean promised Sam that he would walk away from hunting, walk away from his family, and live some normal apple-pie life with Lisa. He did his best to do that-- pulled the weapons out of the trunk, turned his back on Cas and Bobby, started spending his evenings with Lisa and Ben at Little League practice.But monsters don’t stop hurting folks, Hell doesn’t stop being Hell, and Heaven doesn’t start caring about humanity just because Dean’s retired.





	1. Swan Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to so many people, to the point where I'm sure I'm going to forget someone.  
> [Mayalaen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayalaen/pseuds/Mayalaen) for the [fabulous art.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433663) I've only included a few pieces here, go check out the rest!  
> [ThayerKerbasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThayerKerbasy/pseuds/ThayerKerbasy) for helping me plot this thing and general acting as a sounding board (and listening to me whine.). Similarly, AgincourtAgitators and [Mediocre Meta Club](https://mediocremeta.tumblr.com) helped with... every aspect of this, including cheerleading.  
> [SolsticeKitten](http://solsticekitten.tumblr.com), [Triss](http://trisscar368.tumblr.com), and [DorkilySoulless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian/pseuds/dorkilysoulless) beta'd this thing into shape.

They reach Bobby’s house late. Dean doesn’t stop moving, can’t stop moving. He unloads the Impala’s trunk, contemplates leaving her behind altogether. He pares the arsenal down to something approaching legal-- he won’t bring trouble with him to Lisa’s-- before emptying her out and doing the detail work he rarely does. It’s nearly dawn before he’s done and heading east towards Cicero. Bobby tries to get him to wait, get some sleep, start fresh in the morning. He can’t: if he stops moving, he won’t start again. He’s barely holding it together as it is. Any pause and he’ll tip over the edge of his grief and shatter.

Sammy’s gone. A million ways to fix it and he can’t touch a damn one. He can’t ruin everything again, can’t make another deal, can’t undo everything they worked towards over the last couple of years, no matter how much he wishes he could.

On the road, Cas is a solid presence beside him. They ride in silence, not even the radio as background noise. It should be unnerving, so much time in silence, but Cas is a comfort, one he doesn’t deserve.

They’re passing the Indiana state line when he finally starts to break. The numbness starting to wear off maybe, or he just needs to get some sleep. Either way, the silence is too much.

“What are you gonna do now, Cas?”

Cas shifts beside him, staring out the window at the fields or the cars going the other way, “Return to Heaven, I suppose.”

“Right. Heaven. With your brand new set of wings.”

“Not new, not even improved. I was… restored.” He shifts again. “My superiors are already summoning me to account for my actions. With Michael and Lucifer in the Cage, I have no reason to continue to resist.”

“So what, you’re going to be their dancing monkey again? Great. If you see god, tell him I’m coming to kick his ass. Your ‘superiors’ too.”

“I understand you’re angry, Dean.”

“I bypassed angry a long ass time ago. Now, I’m pissed.” Dean swallows. “I want my brother back, dammit.”

“You got what you wanted, Dean. Freedom instead of peace.”

“Fuck you.”

There’s a rush of air and, when Dean glances over, Cas’s side of the car is empty. “Wow, you suck at goodbyes.”

Angrily, Dean flips on the radio and then flips it back off almost immediately. The only radio out here is Christian talk and the last thing he wants right now is to hear about how great god is.

God might have a plan, but if Dean ever gets close to the bastard, he’s going to shank him.

Raphael’s summoning grows more uncomfortable the longer Castiel ignores it, a steady burning itch lodged deep in his grace. The more he resists the worse it will be for him-- both in terms of the summoning and presumably Raphael’s discipline-- but some things are more important than comfort.

Castiel looks at the Hell gate in front of him and hopes he’s making the right choice. Dean’s right: he’s saved the world, against prophecy and expectation. Returning Sam to him is the only reward that makes sense.

Heaven will never allow it, obviously. Dean doesn’t fully comprehend just how angry the other angels are, how they’d obliterate him given the opportunity. Even order among the angels is delicate now: a mistimed word or badly considered summoning could make the whole of Heaven dissolve into civil war. Castiel’s refusal to answer immediately is already pushing matters. He has to return and accept whatever comes his way, but not before he gives Dean some peace.

Perhaps Raphael will be merciful.

Sighing, Castiel double checks the materials he’s gathered. He’s skirting the razor edge of divine law, but using human magic will be less obvious. It will buy him a little time and leeway before Heaven descends upon him in a fury.

The bastardized Enochian spills haltingly off his tongue, ending as he drops the lit book of matches into the bowl.

Seconds pass, just long enough for him to start doubting, before the gravel crunches behind him.

“Hello, Feathers. Fancy meeting you here.”

Castiel turns to face Crowley, a response on his tongue, but what he sees gives him pause. He’s never seen Crowley unkempt-- his suit wrinkled, a bloodstain on his tie-- and the peculiarity almost robs him of the satisfaction that Crowley is apparently having a very bad day indeed.

“I need access to the Cage.”

“Fetching your boyfriend’s brother back to him? After all the effort you went to putting him there? Hm.” Crowley may be having a difficult day, but apparently he’s still capable of being smug. “There are formalities to be observed, Castiel. You and those two lumberjacks always want to skip those. You want Sam, I want something in return. And given that you haven’t got a soul, what on Earth could you possibly offer me?”

“Power.” It’s a guess, but a good one. Lucifer’s failure will have destabilized Hell’s hierarchy as much as Michael’s has upset Heaven. Crowley has had a remarkable run of luck and skill to get to where he is, but luck isn’t a substitute for might in Hell. Demons respect cunning far less than brute force. “A measure of my grace in exchange for safe passage to the Cage door.”

“Just passage to the door?” Crowley asks, and licks his lips. “Done. Shall we kiss on it?”

“I believe shaking hands will be sufficient.”

“Suit yourself,” Crowley says, and opens the way for their descent.

Hell is even more chaotic than Castiel expected. The status quo isn’t just unbalanced. It’s been blown apart. Vast stretches of territory have been demolished. Bands of demons roam the wastes, defending what little territory they can claim for themselves or for whichever master they serve. Crowley, for his part, appears to have made some sort of preparation. His followers are organized and, apparently, competent at maintaining control of strategic assets, including the Cage.

Even so, bringing an angel through his territory is a risk. Crowley opts for stealth and misdirection, even among his own forces. It takes weeks for them to even begin to approach the Cage, and Raphael’s summons only grows stronger.

Eventually, they arrive.

The Cage itself is much smaller than Castiel expected, magic and stone and metal and grace woven together to form a cell that would be claustrophobic for one, let alone two. Cas shudders looking at it: the sigils and spellwork have been disturbed by the confinement of both Lucifer and Michael’s true forms, as well as Sam and Adam’s souls, strained to capacity. The exterior is thorned and threatening, enough to deter anyone from approaching.

Anyone but him.

Impatiently, Crowley watches him pace in front of the door. “Safe passage as promised, Castiel. Pay up.”

Grimacing, Cas reaches deep into himself and crystallizes a portion of his grace. Passing it over, he notices that the Cage itself growing tendrils of almost-sentient grace, blindly reaching for the crystal. “Here. As agreed.”

Crowley disappears as soon as he has his payment, leaving Castiel alone in the shadow of the Cage.

Castiel approaches it, then rests a cautious hand along one of the large thorns. He reaches for the grace woven into it. Even twisted by its long exposure to Hell, it still recognizes and responds to him as any other angel. Carefully, Cas forms his request: for the Cage to eject the humans in its care so he can return them to where they belong.

The alien grace pauses for a moment, evaluating. Accepts his request.

In the space of a blink, Castiel finds himself back on Earth. It’s dark, but looking around he recognizes Stull cemetery. Sam is sprawled unconscious on the ground beside him.

He crouches down beside Sam and places a tentative hand on his arm.

“Cas?”

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel helps him sit upright, then extends his hand, tapping his fingers just above Sam’s brow as he heals him.

“How am I here? I jumped.”

“You did.” Castiel pauses, eyeing him carefully. His grace is depleted by Hell and the Cage, as well as healing Sam and his payment to Crowley, but something feels off in a way he can’t identify. “I pulled you out of the Cage. So you can have a life after hunting.”

Sam is silent for a long moment before pushing himself up and to his feet. “I don’t think I want that anymore. Dean should…” he trails off.

“Dean went to Lisa’s, like you asked. I’ll take you to see him.”

Sam nods, accepting Cas’s hand on his shoulder.

Crowley looks at the fragment of grace in his hand, then the elaborate sigil on the wall in front of him. He’s been preparing for this moment for centuries, since he first started contemplating what could happen if Lucifer lost.

Hell has always been a simmering pit of resentment and backstabbing. That a war would break out at that moment-- especially with demons like Azazel and Lilith dead-- was the easiest guess imaginable. War has, after all, been the first and only constant here.

Crowley intends to win.

He dismisses the demons that serve him, sending them to attend to other tasks. Even assuming only half of them are only serving one master, it’s far better to open the door alone. He has no intention of sharing this power, or word of this reaching his rivals. Aeshma, in particular, knowing that he’s coming would be a problem.

Nearly a third of his career as a demon has been in preparation for this moment. Finding a ritual that would open Purgatory was pure luck, but the rest has been plodding work, acquiring the necessary tools and knowledge that would enable him to claim the power of the souls within for himself. Decades of preparation later, he’s been waiting for means and an opportunity. The last thing he needed was a power source and, lo and behold, Cas just handed that over freely. Due to sentiment.

Crowley checks the sigil drawn on the wall in lamb’s blood before starting the incantation. He’s only going to get one chance at this.

“Ianua Magna Purgatorii, Clausa Est Ob Nos…” The crystallized grace begins to glow, bright enough to burn. He presses on, ignoring the pain. This is the most dangerous part, the part most likely to fail with disastrous consequences. If anything goes wrong, there’s no way to tell what will happen.

The grace dissolves, streaming towards the sigil as it begins to glow in response before combining with an audible crackle.

He’s adding the next ingredient to the bowl when his shelter shakes. Crowley fumbles, spilling significantly more than the prescribed amount into the mix.

The light intensifies, changing colors, and, more worryingly, flickering.

There’s a crash behind him as something slams into the door behind him. Demons. Crowley glances back, sees the lock straining to hold back the attack. He needs to finish this now, or it will all be for nothing.

He hurries through the last stanza, the grace guttering out as he says the last word. Needlessly, he holds his breath, waiting…

The sigil brightens further, flashes, and then goes dead.

Shit.

Behind him, the door falls. The tide of battling demons is crushing and sudden, his forces clashing desperately with Aeshma’s, and the only way out is through.

Crowley draws the angel blade he’d taken to carrying and joins in the fight. This failure isn’t the end. He’ll find another way to accumulate the power he needs. He just has to survive long enough to find it.

Cas doesn’t stick around after depositing Sam near Dean’s new home. Sam suspects it has something to do with watching Dean with his new family.

He knows that watching through the windows, even from a distance, is creepy, that he should go knock on the door. That’s certainly what Cas expected him to do. But why tear Dean away from civilian life? He’s retired. Let him stay that way. Sam can find Bobby, or go out on his own.

He’s not in any shape to be around civilians right now. He knows that. Even Dean feels too complicated. Like there would be too many feelings involved.

Sam doesn’t know what he feels right now. Nothing mostly. He’s still numb from Hell, from hosting Lucifer. Maybe when he’s able to feel more than idle curiosity about his brother’s new life, he’ll come visit Dean. Meet Ben and Lisa properly.

In the meantime, Bobby’s nearly twelve hours away and there are things to hunt.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean isn’t looking for hunts when he sees the article in the newspaper. A lifetime of habit takes over while he’s grabbing a sheet of newsprint to wipe out the bacon pan. He scans the weird local news stories while doing the breakfast dishes.

Lisa’s running Ben to baseball camp and then grocery shopping, leaving him with the house to himself for a few hours. Dean had planned to do the dishes, maybe start the yard work that needs to be done, but the article he finds stops him cold. “Kidnapped Girl Found; Alleged Captor Dead.” and then, a few columns over, “Warehouse Catches Fire, Arson Suspected.””

Mechanically, he finishes the skillet he’s working on and drains the sink.

Dean thinks he’s been doing pretty well, all things considered. Not allowing himself to look for cases, keeping busy doing normal things. He even went to a neighborhood barbeque and didn’t mention Sam once.

Then something like this happens and grief rises up to choke him into submission.

Time heals or some bullshit. It’s been four months and Sam’s absence still feels like an infected wound, Cas and Bobby’s absences just make it worse.

Dean collapses onto the stool in front of the garage workbench and hunches over the page. He promised Lisa he was done hunting without thinking about how hunting was his entire life, how giving it up also meant giving up his family.

He misses Bobby and Cas. He needs to call and apologize or something, but how. How does he walk back into their lives after leaving? He doesn’t even know if Cas is still on Earth. What Cas said in the car-- Dean’s seen Heaven’s idea of discipline before. Cas doesn’t deserve that, not for helping him and Sam. And because he’s an asshole, he’d just ignored what Cas was saying so he could shoot off at the mouth.

Jesus fuck. Who the hell threatens _god_?

Dean’s still staring at the article when Lisa lets herself into the garage.

“Dean?” She presses the button to open the garage door, bright sunlight pouring in. “You out here?”

“Yeah, Lis. I’m…” he pauses, trying to figure out what comes next. “I’m here.” He has no idea what his face looks like, but she clearly sees something that worries her. She’s gathering him up in her arms, looking worried and concerned. This is not something he wanted to dump on her.

“Oh, hey, baby. What’s up?”

Dean buries his face in her shoulder, reaching blindly for the articles to hand to her. It’s not much, few details beyond the headlines, but Dean knows, like he knows his own name, Sam was the one who completed it.

Sam, who’s dead and has been for four months.

Lisa is silent for the few seconds it takes for her to read it. “Did you know him or something?” She re-reads it, then slightly more alarmed, “Is that a hunt? Here?”

“No.” Dean sighs and leans back. “I mean, it _was_ a hunt, Djinn probably. Someone’s already taken care of it.” He trails off. “It’s resolved. Just how Sam would have done it, his fingerprints are all over it. But it can’t be Sam, because Sam’s in a fucking hole.”

“And you miss him.” Gently, she reaches over to run her fingers through his hair.

“Him, Bobby, _Cas_.” He looks up at her bleakly. “I made a promise and I’m keeping it. But it feels like I’m turning my back on my family.”

“Dean, if being here makes you unhappy, if Ben and me are making it worse…”

“You’re the only good thing I’ve got going on right now. Ben. I don’t want to leave, I just... I want my brother back.”

She sucks in a breath, “Alright. We can’t do anything about Sam. But Bobby and Cas? Dean, _go_. You’re a hunter. You’re not a construction worker, Dean. You never will be, and forcing yourself to do this because Sam wanted it for you… you deserve better than that, I deserve better than that. You’re a hunter and you need to be that.”

Dean shudders, his shoulders slumping. “Right. You do. I’ll be--”

“But, Dean, you don’t have to leave. Not for good anyway. Do what you need to do and come home.”

“But…”

Lisa steps forward, wraps her arms around his shoulders, “Go to Bobby’s. Figure out whatever is bothering you about this hunt. Then come home, tell me about it.”

“Can we do that?”

“You’re the hunter, not me. Even if you can’t, Dean, break the goddamn rules. They’re stupid. You’ve said most hunters have a home base. Why should others get something you’re not allowed? Ben and I will be here.”

He blinks, slides a hand into hers. “I need to do some stuff around the house. Teach you some things.”

“I’m certainly not going to be mowing the grass.” She grins at him and tugs him to his feet. “There’s time. Help me get the groceries put away?”

Nodding, he wraps his arms around her and kisses her temple. “Thanks, Lis. For understanding, for all of it.” He feels better now than he has in weeks. He really should have expected her to have a plan for this, she has a plan for everything. Grinning, he looks down at her. “Ben at baseball practice?”

“Yeah, until four.” She meets his smirk with one of her own. “Oh no, mister. Groceries first. I’m not dealing with spoiled milk in my car. Then we can mess around.”

He nods, hugging her tight for another moment before chasing her out the garage into the summer sun. They can make this work. They can.

It’s more of a relief than he expected to pull the Impala out of storage and look her over. He actually ends up delaying leaving for a couple of days while he and Ben do some maintenance work.

Memories swirl around him as Dean teaches Ben how an engine works, how to do an oil change, all of it, the same way Dad taught him and he taught Sam. He can’t tell if Ben is actually interested or if he just wants an excuse to avoid his chores, but he also isn’t sure it matters. The kid is a willing audience.

After a long discussion with Lisa, Dean packs his truck with a few basic pistols and a bag of recycling before driving all three of them out to a neighbor’s farm. If anyone asks, they’re working on a scout badge, but Dean’s not that worried about it. Ben’s got classmates that have been out hunting deer with their families for years now. If anything, he’s starting late.

It’s a good day. Ben’s not great at it, but he’s got a good enough eye from baseball that he can at least hit the target. More importantly, he takes it seriously. Lisa just blows his mind, taking out almost every can and bottle he sets up.

“I told you I had a type, Dean.” She laughs at him, “Even if I didn’t, Mom was military. She made sure I could shoot before I could drive. Granddad took me deer hunting a couple times, but it wasn’t really my thing.”

Dean’s still dumbfounded, but adjusts. Teaching Ben doesn’t feel anything like teaching Sam or when he was being taught. Less beer, more encouragement and laughter, no screaming when he misses. This is how it should have been, how it probably would have been if Mom lived.

Dean leaves the next morning, packed for a week and with a solemn promise to answer the phone when Ben calls after his game on Wednesday. It’s a bit shocking to discover that Dean means it, he really does care about how the game goes.

The drive gives him plenty of time to think about what he picked up looking at hunts over the past week or so. He’d expected things to have died back down once Lucifer and Michael (and Sam, and Adam) took their dives down into Hell, but what he found was something else entirely.

The monsters never stopped, even if demons did. It actually looks like things have ramped up with a corresponding uptick in hunter activity too, but there’s something off about the whole thing. Dean can’t put his finger on how it’s wrong yet, but he’s also looking at nearly twelve hours on the road with nothing else to think about.

He’s only about an hour away from Bobby’s before he realizes what’s been bothering him.

A bunch of the articles he found indicating completed hunts were werewolves and at weird times of the month-- half the ones he caught were at the new moon. There’s no reason to even be looking for werewolves at that time, they’ve already hunkered back down and are waiting for the next full moon. Someone would have to have marked them at the full moon and started killing them as they had time. Either there’s a very devoted group out there looking to eradicate weres altogether and are particularly inept when it comes to flying under the radar, or there’s something else going on.

Dean shakes his head. He hasn’t been paying attention, maybe there’s some other stories that he missed. Something other than ignoring some threats in order to go after wolves at the wrong phase of the moon. He’ll talk to Bobby about it.

Maybe he’s just seeing threats where there aren’t any. It wouldn’t be the first time.

His preferred liquor store is half a block down from the sheriff’s office in the center of Sioux Falls. Dean doesn’t think about it when he pulls into the parking spot and tosses a bit of change into the meter. It’s only when he comes back out, a shopping bag full of whiskey in one hand and a case of beer in the other, to find the sheriff leaning against the meter that he remembers that he might not be welcome in town anymore.

“Oh, uh. Evening, Sheriff.” Crap. What is her name? She turns enough for him to see her name patch in the street lights. Mills. Right. Jody.

She smiles at him, moving forward to take the bag while he digs for his keys and opens the trunk. “Relax, Dean. I’m not gonna run you out of town. Was wondering what you were up to actually, hadn’t seen your car around lately.”

Dean swallows. At least he can tell her the truth, instead of some half-assed lie. “Yeah. Took some time off. Sam, uh, Sam didn’t make it out.” He closes his eyes, forcing a laugh. “But hey, we won. World didn’t end.”

Jody’s staring at him, mouth agape. “Yeah. Lucky us.” She drops the bag into the trunk with a thump. “I’m sorry for your loss. You and Bobby both.”

He shrugs, closing the trunk with a dull thud. What does he say to that? “Thanks. I guess.”

She pats his arm as she heads towards her SUV. “You’ll get there.”

He waits for her truck to pass behind him before pulling out and getting back on the road.

Pulling into Bobby’s yard always feels a bit like coming home. For years, the sight of the rusty sign also meant weeks free of Dad, a chance to be a kid. It meant, if nothing else, a chance to be out of eyesight of Sam, someone else taking over watching for a little while. Freedom and home all wrapped up in a grumpy old man, a yard full of wrecks, and a lazy junkyard mutt.

There’s another car around back that Dean doesn’t recognize, but that doesn’t surprise him much. He’s been out of the game for months, wasn’t paying attention to much besides the apocalypse for nearly two years before that. Fair chance that half the hunters he can ID on sight have changed cars in that time, assuming they survived at all. The Continental is taking up most of the parking space, but Dean wedges Baby in. It should be fine, as long as nobody has to leave in a hurry.

Ignoring the apprehension in his gut, Dean lets himself into the house with only a quick knock. He should have called ahead, should have warned Bobby he was coming. He heads towards the kitchen anyway. He’s here. The worst that Bobby can do is kick him out.

Bobby looks up as soon as Dean’s in view. “Damn it, Dean.”

Dean blows out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Hi, Bobby.”

The table is covered in books and papers, lines of post-its underneath the phone lines. The kitchen is a mess, whiskey glasses and beer cans piling up on the counters around dirty plates and bowls. Dean winces as he looks around; he should have been here.

A book drops in the study. “Dean?”

Dean turns towards the study, “Cas, what are you doing here?”

Bobby waves off the question for the time being. “He’s helping me. What are you doing here, boy? You’re supposed to be with your lady friend.”

He looks around, and decides to go ahead and put the beer in the fridge. “I uh… there was an article in the paper. Lisa said I should go.” Dean straightens from his crouch. “Anyway, I’m here. You mind if I stay a few days, while I work on some stuff?”

“You’ll have to fight Cas for the couch, but yeah. You’re always welcome.”

Dean feels some of his stress fall away from his shoulders. Bobby’s not kicking him out. “I’ve got whiskey in the car.” He rolls up his sleeves while taking in the disaster of a sink. “Who’s pimpmobile is that? Huge ass thing, bet you can fit one hell of an armory in the trunk.” Bobby and Cas are both silent, staring at him. “What? I can clean. You guys are in the middle of something.”

Cas’s voice is slow, hesitant. “It’s mine. I didn’t-” He cuts himself off, and pulls a book towards him to show Bobby. “It doesn’t matter. Bobby, what about this?”

The two of them bend over the book, their voices mumbling to each other. Dean stifles a sigh and turns towards the dishes. Not quite the welcome he was hoping for.

Thirty minutes later, Dean is rinsing out a beer bottle before tossing it into the recycling bag when his brain fully processes what Cas having a car means. “Wait, that’s your car, Cas? What happened to your wings?”

Cas pushes his current book across the table towards Bobby, pointing at a particular passage. “I told you there would be consequences helping you against Lucifer.” Cas looks aside, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “I’ve been exiled. For good.”

“Shit, man. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. You weren’t here.” Cas snaps. “It’s my problem, not yours. And there are more important things to focus on.”

“Like what?”

Cas pushes away from the table, “Among other things, there’s a civil war in Hell for the throne and Crowley still has the ticket for Bobby’s soul.”

Dean’s head snaps around to look at Bobby. He’d forgotten about Bobby’s deal. “That was temporary.”

Bobby rummages through the papers for his coffee cup. “Yeah, brought that up with the limey bastard. He just has to make his ‘best effort’ to return my soul, whatever that means. We were in a hurry, didn’t exactly check every period and comma, ya know.”

“And now the closest thing we have to a lawyer is gone.” Dean sighs and dries his hands on a dish towel. “Alright. Research it is. Coffee first.”

Bobby slams his book shut after a couple of hours. “We’ve been at this for days. It’s a solid contract.” Stretching over the desk to snag one of the bottles of whiskey, he looks over at the couch where Dean’s set up.

Dean’s exhausted, for all that it’s barely past midnight. “We can get you out of it.”

“We already went through this three years ago, idjit. Contracts are as solid as their language, and Crowley’s the tightest of all.” Slamming back his drink, he stands and heads out of the room. “I’ll stick around as long as I can, but eventually he’s going to call it due.”

“We can call him up, make him reverse it.”

“We’ve got nothing to hold over him, nothing he wants. And he ain’t gonna do it for free. No,” Bobby continues, “He’s got us by the short and curlies. If he don’t want to give it back, we’ve got nothing.”

Dean blinks as Bobby disappears upstairs to bed. Grimacing, he swallows the dregs of his cold coffee before closing his own book. Pulling _The Key of Solomon_ from where he’d hidden it, he double checks the ingredients for summoning a specific demon.

It’s all common stuff, just need to draw a trap before doing anything. Standing up, Dean grabs his jacket. “C’mon Cas. We got some painting to do.”

Cas doesn’t move from his place at the table. “What are you going to do, Dean? Threaten Crowley?”

“If that’s what it takes. Or, I don’t know, offer up a bit of my soul or something. If there’s anything left.” Dean can feel Cas staring at him while he sloshes a couple fingers’ worth of whiskey into his coffee mug. “I can’t… not Bobby too.”

Cas nods. “It won’t be your soul. No demon will deal with you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean pretends that doesn’t hurt, that even demons don’t want anything to do with him. He’d already tried it anyway, drunk out of his mind, only to be turned down. It doesn’t matter. Bobby’s more important than his bullshit.

There’s a clearing towards the back of the yard. When they were younger, it’s where Dean, and then Sam, learned to fight, but it’s mostly been sitting empty for the past few years. It’s still bare cracked dirt except for a few scraggly patches of grass near the tires of the surrounding cars. Dean tosses Cas a can of spray paint while he scours the ground for anything that could be used to break the circle.

“Go ahead and get started, this shouldn’t take very long.”

Cas has the trap painted before Dean even manages to get the summoning set up. The moon and yard lights are barely enough to see what he’s doing. Checking he has Ruby’s knife tucked into the back of his pants, he does the summoning as quickly as he can.

“Good evening, Squirrel, Feathers.” Crowley answers the summoning within seconds.

Dean watches him carefully. If Cas is right, and there’s a civil war going on, there’s nothing to show for it in Crowley’s appearance. Same black on black suit and tie.

“Cut the crap, Crowley. I want Bobby’s soul back.”

Crowley arches an eyebrow before turning towards Cas, ignoring Dean entirely, “Feathers. I’ve a bone to pick with you.”

There’s just enough light for Dean to see Cas roll his eyes. “I upheld my end of our agreement. You, however…” His eyes flick towards Dean, but Dean can’t figure out what it means.

“Yes, where is Moose? He _is_ what you were after last time, right? Are you starting out on your own? Freeing righteous men from Hell?”

Dean opens his mouth, What?

Cas cuts him off before he can get anything out. “Relinquish your claim on Bobby.”

Crowley starts to bluster about the impossibility of giving up a soul for nothing before Dean steps out of the shadows, pulling Ruby’s knife from his waistband as he does so. “Crowley. Give it up. We all know you wouldn’t sell _that_ contract. How much you want to bet that I won’t kill you if you don’t hand it over? Maybe I should anyway. Don’t remember anything about heirs.”

“Heirs? In Hell? Of course not. Demon’s don’t die, or we didn’t until you muttonheads started screwing things up.” Crowley sneers. “Not that it matters, Hell’s in the middle of a civil war. If you enjoy the current state of things, I really am your best option as King. The only other real option is Aeshma and she’s a loyalist.”

“We really don’t care. Hand it over, Crowley.”

Crowley sighs, looks at the circle. “I need to be getting back anyway.” Snapping his fingers, he steps towards the edge of the circle. “Contract voided. Let me out.”

“You can leave the bit about his legs.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, but snaps his fingers again. “Done.”

Dean looks over at Cas, where he’s looking towards the house. “Well? That do it?”

Cas nods sharply. “Yes. We’ll be able to get a better idea of the exact wording later, but for right now. Yes.”

Blowing out a breath, Dean scuffs out part of the outer line of the trap, dissolving it. “Get--”

Crowley’s gone before he can finish.

Dean shakes his head, leaning back against one of the junkers. “Wanna tell me what he was saying about Sam?”

“Not remotely.” A sigh. “But you need to know anyway. I was hoping we’d solve the problem without you…” Cas trails off. “Why are you here, Dean?”

Dean tosses the remaining ingredients back into the bowl to carry back to the house. “I told you. There was a hunt in the paper. It reminded me of Sam, down to the ignition point of the fire. I’m never going to get Sam back, I know that.” He sighs. “Demons won’t deal with me, thanks for the reminder, and there’s no way of getting into the Cage anyway, but… And I just… I’m never going to be happy living some suburban life, dude.”

They’re moving among the rows of stacked cars now, out of the yard lights, but Dean thinks he sees Cas rubbing the back of his neck before hearing him inhale.

“I got Sam out of the Cage. Weeks ago. I thought… I thought I was wrong, that getting exiled so quickly afterwards screwed me up. They didn’t, they couldn’t cut me off from Heaven, but they tried, and maybe that...”

“Cas, what are you talking about?”

“Sam’s not in the Cage. Or his body isn’t anyway. Demons wouldn’t deal with you because they have to be able to fulfill their end of the deal.”

Dean grabs Cas’s shoulder and spins him around, pushing him into a nearby car. “What did you do?”

“After we talked, I made a deal with Crowley to get Sam out. He gets me to the Cage, I get Sam out, he gets a small portion of my grace in payment.” He swallows repeatedly. “The Cage isn’t meant to hold humans, so I convinced it to reject Sam and Adam.”

“Okay…”

“Adam was delivered back to his heaven, no problems except for the occasional show tune. It should work itself out. Sam. I don’t know, Dean. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Cas.”

“He’s alive and well and hunting, but he’s not himself. I think… I think the Cage rejected his body, but kept his soul.”

 

They walk back to the house in silence, Dean practically running away from Cas.

Half the research Cas and Bobby have done has been to figure out what happened to Sam. There are no other cases like this and very little in the way of applicable knowledge. Over half of what they’re finding is more useful to retrieve someone from Purgatory than from Hell.

Dean stops at the Impala, rummaging around in the trunk before slamming into the house. Cas winces. That’s definitely going to wake up Bobby.

Cas pauses to lock the door after him before following Dean into the study. He’s still standing, the window backlighting him so he’s little more than a silhouette. Dean’s always breathtaking, but right now he’s the only thing Cas can think about.

“Let me get this straight. Sam’s alive, has been for months, and no one ever bothered to tell me?” Dean is skipping the glass entirely now, taking swigs directly out of the bottle. “Where the hell has he been?”

“Hunting. Just… not with us.” Slowly, Cas sinks into the spare chair across the room. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was going to fix it.”

Dean’s voice is icey, “What the _hell_ , Cas?”

“What do you want me to say, Dean? I don’t know how I screwed it up, but I did.” He huffs, “This can’t possibly surprise you. Half of our interactions for the last year have been you yelling at me because I made a mistake.”

“And then you raised my brother from the dead and went radio silent.”

“You left first, Dean. With every intention of never returning to hunting.” Cas flips the lightswitch above his head, flooding the room. “What did you do to be forced back to this?”

Dean blinks, takes another swig of whiskey-- a different brand than what Bobby keeps on hand, so that’s what he was getting out of the car-- before collapsing back onto the couch. “I didn’t… I’m back voluntarily, dude. The Sam thing, and then I looked more, and there’s seriously something weird happening with monsters right now, and Lisa said she wasn’t going to hold me to a promise that made me so unhappy.” Briefly, he meets Cas’s eyes before resuming his staring contest with the floor, twisting the bottle in his hands. “My family needed me. Or I thought they did.”

“I dropped Sam off right outside Lisa’s.” Cas offers. “Before I was called back to Heaven to face Raphael. There was no reason for him to not go to you.” He wonders, now, if maybe the fact that Sam never contacted Dean, but just started hunting again should have been his first clue that something was wrong. It shouldn’t have taken dropping in on Bobby a few days after Sam visited to realize how badly he’d screwed up.

The stairs creak as Bobby walks down them. “What are you two idjits arguing about?”

Dean’s head pops up with a grin that is so obviously false that Cas can’t believe Bobby falls for it. “Oh, you know. Threatening the King of the Crossroads into giving back your soul. Sam. You know, the usual.”

Cas can hear Bobby blinking behind him. “The hell you did.” A pause. “Why am I still walking then?”

“Because we’re just that good. Although Cas is the badass here, making deals and walking out of Hell with Sam and Adam under each arm.”

Cas snorts, “Because that went the way it should have.” He startles when Bobby’s hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing tight for a fraction of a second. Across from them, Dean’s jaw cracks from how hard he yawns. “You two should go to bed. We can’t accomplish anything else tonight.”

“You too, Cas. Even if you just read something fun.” Dean yawns again, before stretching out on the couch. “Anything else can wait until morning.”

Baffled, he looks at Dean. “Of course it can. But there’s a perfectly good bed upstairs. Get off my couch.”

“Man, that bed sucks though.”

“Still my couch. Go to bed.”

Dean laughs as he follows Bobby up the stairs. Cas smiles after them.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as he figures out that he’s going to start hunting again, Dean starts working on his car. Then, when the Impala is back to hunting shape, he starts pulling apart and rebuilding Cas’s Continental.

It’s a familiar touch when so much is unfamiliar. Cas has spent two years with a different man than the one currently working on his car. He still drinks too much, still gets lost in his own head, is still Dean, but one that’s healed a bit. The open sores of his childhood scabbed over, more comfortable living outside of John’s shadow.

Bobby catches Cas watching him on the second evening, sitting on the back porch where Dean banished him. “Never did think I’d see him this happy again.” He nudges Cas in the shoulder with an open beer, waits for him to reach up to take it.

Cas hmms, watching the slope of Dean’s thighs as he stretches under the car.

“You did good, pulling him out of Hell like you did. I just…” Bobby trails off, taking a drink of his beer.

“I pulled him out too late and then he never had a chance to adjust.” That had been a deliberate choice by Heaven, Cas knows. Designed to make sure Dean never had a chance to catch his breath so it would be easier to control him. “And then I went and fucked it up entirely with Sam.”

“That’s not what I was saying.” Bobby snorts when Dean bangs his head on something and starts cursing a blue streak. “You did the best you could before you even knew him.”

Curious, Cas twists around to look at Bobby. “Bobby, I…”

Bobby cuts him off. “Drink your beer, idjit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bobby pushes off the doorway and down the stairs. “Dean, what are you doin’ to that car? It doesn’t deserve that sort of abuse.”

Dean jerks his head out, glares at Bobby. “Fuel pump’s dyin’. Wanna get it replaced before it craps out entirely.”

“Button her up anyway. There’s a black dog out northeast of Billings and you two are the closest who aren’t doing anything.”

Dean straightens up and looks like he wants to argue. But he just nods and bends back over the car, presumably to close it back up-- whatever that means. Bobby watches for a moment before meeting Cas’s eyes and raising an eyebrow.

Cas nods and pushes himself to his feet. It’s been a few weeks since he last went on a hunt. His time is better spent doing what he can to preserve his grace, trying to replenish it, and helping Bobby out. If he and Dean are leaving on a hunt, he needs to get his stuff back together.

He needs time to get _himself_ back together before spending tomorrow in the car with Dean.

Cas is ready to go by the time Dean has the Continental back together enough to be left for a few days. He’s sure Bobby will probably be out here a couple times to work on it, but better to just get things put away.

Transferring the extra weapons from Bobby’s storage back into the Impala is bittersweet. He really thought he’d make it this time, get out like everyone told him he should, have the picket fence life that Sammy always told him he should want.

He never actually wanted it, but Sam was always the brighter of them. Maybe Dean is just missing something to make being a civilian work. Because Lisa and Ben are awesome, and he misses them, but at the same time, he’s felt better for the past day and a half than he has in months, since before Stull. Maybe Lisa’s right and he can have both.

Driving with Cas is different than with Sam. Cas is quieter, less likely to fuss about needing to stop or the music, but he breaks the quiet with random questions. Dean moves the Impala along the interstates just over the speed limit, while Cas reads over the articles Bobby gave them over and over.

Eventually, Cas reaches into the backseat, and pulls out the folder of articles Dean had printed back in Cicero. Slowly, he reads through them too before leaning back in the seat, blinking against the late afternoon sun.

“Anything new?”

Cas looks at him, reaches over to turn down the music. “Nothing you didn’t figure out already, I’m sure. Elevated number of reported hunts, some without anything that would trigger a hunter to investigate.” He fidgets with his phone. “Someone, over the past couple of months, has unbalanced the playing board.”

“How do you figure?”

“Hunters and creatures balance each other out: hunters kill the ones that attack humans; creatures kill hunters that get too aggressive. But now,” he flips to a different page. “The possible vampire nest in Wisconsin that you spotted. There’s nothing in these articles to make it sound like there was something there before the bodies started piling up.”

“Whoever took care of it did it before there was any reason to investigate the area.”

“And that’s just an example. We’ll need to research some more, but there are others here too.” Cas shakes his head before flipping the folder closed. “It’s possible that we’re both wrong. But I don’t think we are.”

Dean sighs and presses harder on the accelerator.

There isn’t a motel in Ingomar and the nearest one is nearly an hour away. Whatever’s hunting along the highway, it picked a crappy location. This section sees a fair amount of traffic, but it’s mostly going to be hard-to-spook miners. The more he looks around, the less likely it seems that it is a black dog. It’s certainly not one acting according to pattern.

The motel is nothing to write home about-- a brick two story, only about twenty rooms-- but it’s got a take-out Indian joint attached to it, which is good enough for Dean. It’s not burgers and fries, but it also doesn’t involve driving anywhere else.

Briefly, he checks the time and curses. Ben’s game is going to be getting out any minute and he promised he would be available to talk. Plugging his phone in so it can charge a bit, Dean tosses his wallet towards Cas. “Hey, I gotta talk to Ben. Can you grab dinner?”

Cas nods and picks up his coat from where he’d hung it over the back of a chair. “Anything in particular?”

“The Indian joint at the end will be fine or take a look around town. I’m not fussy.”

Cas raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything before walking out the door. Dean scrubs a hand across his face, he probably deserved that. Things with Cas are just so awkward right now. He thought they were friends but then Stull happened and Dean ran to Lisa and Cas got exiled and he has no idea where they stand right now.

He’s not sure he’s ever known exactly where they stand with each other. There’s friendship but there’s also that massive crush he’s been nursing for a while. If Cas wasn’t an angel…

Dean’s phone rings in his hand, cutting off the thought. Just as well. “Hello?”

“Dean! We won the game!”

“Awesome!”

Ben takes off, rattling about the game a mile a minute. Dean’s kinda sorry he missed it- practice over the summer had gotten pretty intense and it sounds like all that work is finally paying off. He’s not going to be his father, not caring about Ben’s activities if they don’t pertain to hunting. Ben deserves better than that. (The thought is small, but persistent, every time he thinks about it: Dean deserved better than that.)

He chats with Ben for about fifteen minutes before the phone gets passed over to Lisa. Dean can hear Ben climbing out of the car, greeting his teammates before going into the pizza joint the team likes.

Lisa sighs when the door slams closed “He’s a chatterbox today.”

“It’s alright, Lis. It’s important.”

He can hear her shifting in the car, “I know. You’re so good with him. Anyway, fill me in.”

Dean pauses, sorting through everything that’s happened in the last couple of days, laughs. “I uh… I blackmailed a demon into releasing a claim on Bobby’s soul. Cas is on Earth for good, and… Sammy’s out of the Cage and not dead or something? It’s confusing and Cas is being weird about it.”

“Oh. So, uh… what are you going to do?”

Dean leans back in his chair, rubs his forehead with his spare hand, “I don’t know. I don’t understand what the problem is, or why Cas and Bobby would have hidden this from me.” Swallowing, “They’re saying he came back _wrong_ , that he’s not my brother anymore.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

“If you say so, babe. Well, I need to get inside, keep the monster from ordering meat everything. I’ll talk to you later?”

The door rattles, Cas letting himself in. “Yeah, Lis. I’m away, not gone. Call if you think I can help.”

“Ok. Be careful.” She hangs up the phone, leaving Dean staring at a blank screen.

Cas drops a couple plastic bags on the table. Dean plugs his phone back in and pushes it towards the wall to keep it out of the way.

“Was that Lisa?”

“And Ben. Won his baseball game. What’s for dinner?”

For a brief moment, Cas looks disappointed, but then his face clears. Unpacking the bags, he announces, “Chicken saagwala and goat curry.” Containers of rice, curry, saagwala, and some packets of naan cover the table. Dean digs in immediately. “They were very surprised to see me.”

Dean nods, “You do kinda gotta wonder why they opened up here of all places.” He shrugs and uses a fork to move some of the curry onto a piece of naan. “Cas, we gotta talk about Sam, man.”

“You know as much as I do, right now. He’s shown up at Bobby’s a few times with other hunters in tow, but doesn’t stick around long enough for us to figure out what’s happening. Just is an ass and then takes off.” Cas pauses to take a couple bites.

“That why you’re living as a human?”

“Yes. I... the Host was unable to sever my connection to Heaven, however, in exile, I am much slower to replenish what grace I use. Saving it gives us more options once we know how I can help Sam.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

They finish their meal in silence.

It’s barely after sunset when Dean makes his excuses to escape the room for a little bit, claiming he just needs to get some stuff out of the car. Leaning against the side of the Impala, he watches the stars while cursing himself. Every time he opens his mouth, he makes things more awkward, even when they were discussing the hunt earlier in the car. How can four months have fucked things up so much between them? Cas is his best friend, hell, pretty much his only friend.

He heaves a sigh before stretching. It’ll be okay eventually. He and Cas managed to figure things out after much bigger issues.

A truck door slams across the parking lot, a couple of guys climbing out of the cab. One walks towards the office, the other leaning against the bed. The guy looks impossibly familiar, even backlit and in silhouette. Any other day, he would have ignored it, the odds are way too high, but anything is possible.

Including, apparently, Sam Winchester standing in the parking lot of a fleabag motel in the middle-of-nowhere, Montana.

Dean doesn’t even remember moving, he’s just pelting across the parking lot towards his brother. “Sam. Sam!”

Sam turns, and good, it actually is him, but the look on his face… Dean pulls himself up to a stop before they collide. Cas and Bobby are right, it’s clear that something has changed. Just the way he holds himself screams wrong.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is flat. “What are you doing here?”

“There’s a hunt up the road. Cas and I got in a couple hours ago, figured we take care of it…” Dean trails off when Sam’s companion walks out of the office.

Samuel smiles and holds out his hand to shake, “Evening. Dean, right?”

Numbly, Dean nods. He can deal with Sam being back, rejoice even. But Samuel? Why the hell would anyone bring him back?

He shakes himself. There’s all sorts of options, maybe the apocalypse screwed those doors too. Wouldn’t be the first time that folks came back from the dead just to fuck with them.

“Cas and I were gonna take care of the black dog, or whatever it is, tomorrow. If you guys want to help?”

For a brief moment, a flicker of Dean’s Sam appears, “Let’s compare notes at least. It’s a weird one.”

“Sure thing. Cas and I are in room 108. Just come by when you’re settled.”

The walk back to the room feels like a retreat but Dean can’t figure out why.

Cas is still sitting at the table when he lets himself back in, “Sam’s here. With Samuel Campbell.”

“Samuel’s dead. Has been for decades.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I was there when he died.” Dean snaps, “But there’s someone with Sam who, if he’s not actually Samuel, is his fucking ghoul or something.” He pines, briefly, for the bottle of whiskey he’d left at Bobby’s. Something about modeling good behavior. Instead, Dean busies himself with setting up the coffee maker and clearing the leftovers.

“Dean, this is a good thing.”

“Is it, Cas? Because right now, it feels like our milk run of a hunt just got a lot more complicated, and not because the damn thing is acting weird.”

There’s a long pause. “Because Sam’s trapped here by the hunt. We can figure out what’s wrong.” Cas sighs, “Or we can walk away, let them take care of it.”

Dean slaps the research folder onto the table, following it up with Dad’s journal. “I’m not my fucking father. I don’t leave hunts unfinished.”

A knock on the door interrupts. Cas carefully opens the door to Sam, without Samuel. “Hi, Cas.”

“Sam.” Cas gestures him to the other chair in the room. “It’s good to see you.”

There’s a few minutes of social graces that Cas handles while Dean tries to pinpoint exactly what is off about Sam. After a couple minutes, he gives up and just blurts out “Dude, what the hell? You’ve been alive for four months and didn’t let me know?”

Sam shrugs, “You had a pretty good life. Didn’t want to interrupt that.”

“Are you… Are you fucking kidding me? You’re my goddamned brother, of course you tell me that you’re alive!”

“You had the family you always wanted. The one you’ve wanted our entire lives and you only gave up because of hunting. There was no room for me there. I wasn’t going to make you choose.”

“I went to them because you asked me to. Showed up on their doorstep half out of my mind with grief, spent the first month drunk off my ass.” Dean starts pacing. “Or did you manage to forget while planning my future, that you’ve wanted out your entire fucking life, but I haven’t. Lisa and Ben made room for me anyway. Still are, even while I chase a ghost.”

Sam shrugs, “I was giving you a choice.”

“Some choice,” Dean scoffs. “Finding out my brother, my last blood relative, is alive from a fucking newspaper article. I thought I was losing my goddamned mind!”

Sam just shrugs again.

Fuck, Dean just wants to punch him. This is not going how it’s supposed to. He’d dreamed of this, in the days following Stull. Sam back, alive and whole. Shows what he knows.

He’s got his brother back, kinda, but Sam doesn’t even care. Would rather disappear back into the ether with Samuel.

Cas and Bobby would have told him eventually, when they had something concrete. Sam though, he walked away with no intention of saying a word.

“Sam, I have some questions about your resurrection.” Cas cuts off his train of thought. “Have you been feverish? Speaking in tongues?”

“What? No. I’ve been fine. If anything, I’ve been a better hunter. Nothing gets in the way.”

“Yeah, except I was twitchy as all get out when he sprang me. You… You’re cold. Do you even care?”

“Of course I do. But I’m better like this, stronger, more focused. More time hunting, no time sleeping or eating. Gives me an edge.”

Dean raises his eyebrows before meeting Cas’s alarmed glance. “Sam, you’re not sleeping at all? What about eating?” Oh good, this really is as bad as Dean thought.

Yet another shrug. Dean’s getting really sick of those. “If I think about it. Don’t really need to.”

Cas abruptly stands up, looming over Sam while rolling up his sleeve. “Hold still. This will hurt.”

From across the room, it looks like Cas is pushing his arm through a rubber sheet, a weird reddish glow coming from around his hand. It’s almost enough for Dean to pretend it’s not Sam’s chest.

“Cas, what are you doing?” Dean snaps, moving to stand behind Sam. Even if the answers they were getting from Sam didn’t worry Dean, Cas’s face and reaction would have. Whatever is happening, it has Cas freaked.

Sam grunts, knuckles going white around the table edge while his face screws up in pain.

After a few moments, Cas withdraws his hand, leaving Sam slumped on the chair but still conscious.

“What the hell was that?” Dean does his best to keep the panic out of his voice.

“Diagnosis.” Cas steps back, rolling down his sleeve. Pouring himself a cup of the coffee, he grimaces before downing the entire cup.

“So, what’d you find?” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam perk up.

“Nothing.” Cas continues before Dean can interrupt, “That’s the problem. His soul is missing.”

Dean stares at him, he can’t even begin to process that. Because three guesses where Sam’s soul is if it’s not in him. “How… Okay. Skipping right on past that, because I don’t have the least idea on how to deal with it, and I’m guessing neither of you do either.” He takes a deep breath before walking over to the table and flipping on the research.

“It’s not a problem to be solved, Dean. This way is so much easier.”

Appalled, he stares at Sam, “You’re missing your fucking soul. Yeah, I think that’s a problem.” He’s silent for a moment, trying to rein in his temper. “Samuel joining us?”

“He’ll be here in a bit. Wanted to shower before being around company.

“Whatever.” Dean shoves the folder towards Sam. “This is what we have.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes while Sam reads over what they have, making the occasional note in the margins. It’s awkward in a way hunting with Sam never has been. Angry, frustrated, they’ve been within inches of throwing punches, holding onto their tempers with bare fingertips… and it was better than Sam the emotional black hole, sitting in the chair by the door.

At least when Samuel shows up, it’s with beer and new info for Dean and Cas to look at.

That’s the only way he helps though. Any suggestion that Dean makes gets mocked on the basis that he wasn’t actively hunting for a while or isn’t man enough to see it through, Cas gets ignored entirely. Sam’s the best damn hunter Samuel’s ever seen though.

It’s just like growing up with Dad, but with unexpected Cas-shaped back-up. Dean tries to avoid being obvious when rolling his eyes, and he thinks Cas might be reading his mind based on some of the random smirks he gets. It feels like it did with Sam, years ago, before Stanford.

Dean doesn’t miss the way Samuel’s eyes narrow when he puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder while leaning over the table to point at something on the map. There’s nothing to do about it tonight, he’ll just keep a closer eye on Cas tomorrow, so Cas doesn’t ‘accidentally’ end up clawed. It’s not the first time he’s had to work with a homophobic asshat nor the first time that someone’s thought Dean and Cas were together.

He watched Cas’s back then, he’ll do it now too.

They’re packing up for the night, finally, when Dean has a chance to ask the question that’s been bugging him, “Samuel, you died years ago. Who brought you back?”

He snorts, “What, you think you boys were the only ones to ever die and come back? No idea how, not gonna ask. Just going to take advantage, try to clear out your monster population.”

Dean nods. Yeah, he’s heard of hunters coming back, but never free and clear, and _never_ as convenient as this.

Closing the door after them, he leans his head against it while throwing the deadbolt. “Cas, do me a favor. Don’t be alone with Samuel.”

Cas hasn’t moved from the table, idly dragging his finger through the condensation rings left by the beer. “Sure.” He pauses, watching Dean’s face, “Is everything okay?”

He thinks about telling the truth, that he’s pretty sure his grandfather views Cas as a monster and would kill him in a heartbeat, shortly before beating the shit out of his queer grandson, but that’s too much truth in an already bizarre and exhausting evening. “Human thing. Just… trust me for right now, and I’ll explain once I’ve gotten some sleep.”

“Of course.”

The rumble of the truck starting knocks Cas out of his doze in the armchair at around four AM. Twitching aside the curtain so he can look out the window, he watches Sam toss a bag of gear into the bed before climbing in after it and peeling out of the parking lot. He wishes he could be surprised, but it’s just a repeat of Sam’s behavior every time he shows up.

At least he’s no longer showing up at Bobby’s, demanding assistance. That had only happened twice-- He and Bobby had met Sam and Christian Campbell at the gate the third time, with loaded rifles.

Cas is far more concerned with who would have brought back Samuel. He has his suspicions-- there are a limited number who could do so, fewer who would. There’s only one who would do it happily, just to have a hunter under his thumb to take out his enemies.

How Crowley could be that _stupid_ is another matter. Unless promised a near unimaginable reward, Samuel will turn around and destroy Crowley as soon as it’s convenient. The hunts will eventually stop being a distraction. Then Crowley will either have to hand over the promised reward, whatever it may be, or he’ll have a second front in the war he’s fighting.

Bravado aside, Crowley is right. Of the options for who to run Hell, he is the best one. The others… they will drown the world in blood within months. Crowley though, he’ll carry on with the status quo, with very little change in Hell’s actions on Earth. But that’s only if he wins.

Cas deliberately pushes it from his mind. Looking over to where Dean is asleep on the bed, he tries to fill his entire being with the image of sleep sprawled Dean, stretched out on his stomach with only a sheet covering him.

Lust is a sin, he does not care. He never thought he’d get to have this again, and who knows when Dean will go back to Lisa. He watches until he dozes back off, waiting for Dean to wake up.

Dawn is barely being hinted at when Dean startles himself awake, stretching against the bed and reaching, blindly, for another body.

It’s a splash of cold water down Cas’s spine when he sees it. Dean reaching for Lisa, not him, never him. Abruptly, he sits up straight in his chair, jealousy hitting him hard before he pushes it as far away as possible. There’s no space for that in his life.

Dean pushes himself up and looks blankly around the room for a moment before grunting and heading directly to the tiny bathroom. Cas goes ahead and starts the coffee, needing something to do while Dean wakes up. Dean is always much more pleasant post-shower and coffee.

A black dog hunt, even if it’s weird, doesn’t require impersonating federal officers. While Dean’s in the shower, Cas changes into jeans, layered shirts, and boots. It’s almost worth the inconvenience of changing to hear Dean suck in air when he steps out of the bathroom.

Cas smirks, but doesn’t say anything.

They’re both quiet this morning, actually. They’re at the diner down the road, grabbing breakfast and preparing to spend the day tramping around cattle pastures, before Dean says more than single syllables.

“They took off?”

“Around four. They weren’t going to stick around if we were here. I’m surprised they stayed as long as they did.” Cas looks at his plate of mediocre waffles. “Sam… does this now. He stays long enough to get whatever information he needs, and then leaves.”

Dean nods, wrapping his hands around his coffee. “I just… I don’t even know what I should be doing. A missing soul sounds like a huge thing, but he’s walking and talking and not killing civilians so…” He shrugs. “Maybe leaving him be until we know how to stick his soul back in is the best option.”

“Even if it’s not, it’s the only one we have.”

Dean looks thoughtful for a few minutes before physically shaking himself and starting on his hash browns. “Can’t say I really wanted to have Samuel at your back with a gun anyway. Way too happy to shoot anything that isn’t human.”

There are other things that Dean wants to say there, but Cas can respect his silence, respect how disillusioned Dean is after only an hour with his grandfather. “I would prefer to not be around him at all until we know how he’s back. You’re right, normally if a hunter comes back, they know how.”

Dean grins at him, “Or they find out when whoever did it shows up in a barn and lets themselves get stabbed in the chest.”

“Most of the time, hunters are grateful to be saved, not shooting what saved them.”

Dean snorts and takes another drink of coffee. “You were a scary mofo. Let’s figure out where this thing is lairing so we can go home.”

 

 

They were only partially wrong. Yes, they were hunting a black dog, it just also happened to be under the control of some sort of nymph using it to feed itself. The dog is the easy part, a bullet to the head.

The nymph goes a lot slower. Harder to find and Dean has never seen one act like this. Occasionally, they’ll act out if someone damages their tree or body of water, but this… it’s downright savage, hunting down anyone she can reach, watering her roots with the victim’s blood. By the time Cas manages to stab the nymph in the heart with Dean’s iron blade, they’ve been out all day and they’re both hurting and in desperate need of a shower.

Cas is filthy-- covered in dried mud from a tumble down a creek bed, scratches on his arms, bruises all over-- and Dean’s not a whole lot better. Dean keeps driving through town back east, but only until the next town.

The motel in Miles City is cheaper and not connected to the strangers who just killed the peculiar woman and her dog living outside of town. He doesn’t think they have anything to worry about, they did burn the body, but he’d rather be long gone before anyone checks their cattle tomorrow.

Cas take advantage of his distraction to claim first shower while Dean stares at the single queen bed in the room with no armchair. He hadn’t thought about it, asked for a single when checking in, forgetting that Cas sleeps now.

By the time Cas is out of the shower, Dean’s talked himself back around. Then Cas walks out of the bathroom and his brain short circuits.

“So… uh. There’s only one bed.” He’s staring. Of course he’s staring, Cas in well worn jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt with damp hair needs to be stared at. It’s a law, or gravity, but either way, far more important than things like breathing.

Cas looks at him patiently, like he’s an idiot. “Yes, Dean. I can see that. I can--”

“We can share.” It falls out of Dean’s mouth in a rush. He’s not entirely certain how to follow it up, suddenly tongue-tied like he’s sixteen again and asking a girl to dance. Except this will go better, it has to, because Cas is his best friend and one of the only things in his entire damn life to make sense and…

“Dean.” Cas drops a hand onto Dean’s shoulder, grounding him, “Breathe. Sharing is unnecessary, I can rest in the car.”

He forces out a laugh, “It’s really not that big, dude. You’re not that much shorter than me. I don’t know-” Another deep breath. “You’re living as a human now, which means sleeping in beds if one’s available. Even sharing, this will be better than the car, trust me.”

“I don’t want to interfere with your relationship with Lisa.”

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

He escapes to the shower after calling in a pizza order. He knows he can go back in there, tell Cas he changed his mind and nothing more would be said. Cas will nod, grab a blanket out of the trunk, and pass out in the backseat.

That’s not what Dean wants though. He wants Cas next to him in bed, sharing pizza and watching shitty TV. It’s not like Lisa doesn’t know about his history with Cas. Just like he knows about her thing-- that’s predated him by years-- with Nikki from next door.

Claiming his side of the bed, Dean stretches out. “Cas, do you want to meet Lisa?”

Cas freezes where he’s pouring a cup of soda at the desk, “If… if you want me to? She’s clearly important to you and…”

“Your turn to take a deep breath, Cas.” Dean takes a deep breath himself. “It’s alright if you don’t. It’s just… she needs to meet you before, if, ya know, we start anything.”

Cas looks at him. Dean’s not entirely certain how to read his face, but it seems like he hasn’t been wrong so far. Or, as the silence drags on, maybe he has, maybe he’s misread everything and Cas is trying to figure out how to tell him what an idiot he is. “Or not. Nevermind. I… just forget I said anything.” Fuck. Too soon, shouldn’t have pushed it, should have just accepted friendship and dealt with the rest of it.

“Dean, yes. Yes, I want to meet Lisa, and Ben if you think I should, and anyone else.” Cas moves to the head of the bed, stretching out next to Dean. They wake up the next morning curled around each other before getting in the car and driving back to Bobby’s.


	4. Chapter 4

Looking up, Crowley watches the demon in front of him shift nervously. “Your report?”

The demon shrinks back. “Aeshma has withdrawn to the Forest with her army and ceased all communication with those outside as well as those in her host that joined after war broke out.”

Crowley nods, dismissing the messenger. Another pointless report from another useless spy. Aeshma is trying to draw him out and no one can get close enough to get him actionable intelligence. Briefly, he contemplates pulling his own forces back, refusing to engage. But he needs the distraction of battle for his other plans to work. “Guthrie.” Guthrie steps to his side in an instant, as always, nearly silent. “Make sure General Jackson knows of the newest movements. He knows my expectations.”

“Does that include razing the Forest, sir?”

“That’s more Sherman’s cup of tea, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” With a bow, Guthrie disappears again, leaving Crowley alone in his office.

He sighs and resumes his seat, looking at the paperwork strewn across his desk. Pushing it to the side, Crowley draws a symbol on his blotter and sits back as a slender leather-bound book appears.

He knows what he did wrong with his last attempt to open Purgatory. Now it’s just a matter of finding the correct way. Between the book and the monsters Campbell is delivering, he will have it open soon. Then he’ll have sufficient souls to destroy Aeshma, her hidey-hole, and anyone who might challenge him after.

 

 

Bobby uses the countertop to pop the cap off a beer before handing it to Dean. “Sorry about Sam, kid.”

Dean shrugs. “I mean, at least we know what’s wrong with him.” Freaking out doesn’t do anything and blaming Cas will just make a bigger mess. “We can’t do anything, so we hunt.”

“Right.” Bobby raises an eyebrow but lets it go. “Well, while you’re hunting, keep an eye on Cas.”

“Yeah, Bobby.” Bobby has reason to be concerned. The last hunt-- a simple salt and burn-- nearly ended with both of them in the hospital and is the entire reason they’re back at Bobby’s.

Three weeks and four hunts later, he’s no closer to getting Cas and Lisa in the same room than he was in Montana. Every hunt they find is in the opposite direction.

They’ve been back at Bobby’s for a couple days before taking off again tomorrow-- a wraith in Salt Lake City-- unless a different hunter takes care of it before they leave. Dean is hoping Tracy and Rudy will take care of it, they’re closer and much more experienced with wraiths than he is.

He wishes Cas could just dive back into Hell and get Sam back, but yeah, he trusts Cas when he says that’s not a good idea. Having Cas around is important too. But the wait-- for Cas to rebuild his grace, or for Bobby’s research to turn up something, or for _anything_ to change-- is killing him.

He tosses back the rest of his beer and wanders back out to Cas’s Continental. It’s a win-win: Cas gets a car that’s in near mint condition and Dean is distracted from shit he can’t change by carburetors and mostly fallen angels fresh from the shower and wearing only boxers.

Fuck. He has got to get Cas and Lisa in the same place. He shakes his head, pulling out his phone to send Lisa a text: _Plans for your birthday? Want you to meet Cas._

_> > Meet him or *meet* him :P_

_< < Both? Ben’s last game is Wednesday, right? _

_> > Yep, 7:15 at field B. Bring Cas along. The way you talk about him, I might wanna *meet* him too._

_< < :P_

Smiling, Dean sticks his phone back in his pocket and bends back over the engine. Awesome.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, Sheriff. Chambers has been assigned to the case. …I’m sure the paperwork will catch up with you before too long. …Thank you, Sheriff. You too.” Cas sighs and leans back in his chair, tipping it up onto two legs.

Bobby looks up from his desk in the library, “Chambers again?”

Castiel slams his chair back onto all four legs before pushing himself away from the table. “Does he just march up to the police and present his credentials before they even ask?”

“Now you know how I feel with you boys.” Bobby smirks. “Next time y’all are in the same area, I’ll make sure you see each other. Dean can give him some tips.” Bobby motions for Castiel to come over to his desk, lifting the bottle of whiskey as incentive. “It’s late enough in DC that we’re off the clock. Come take a look at this journal.”

Shaking his head, Castiel grabs a beer from the fridge and perches on the arm of the couch. Picking the text and notebook up from the desk, he reads the cramped handwriting in faded pencil and wavering ink. Then he reads it again. “Bobby, where did you find this?” He flips to the front of the book. _Journal of Jesse William Howard, August 1867- January 1873._

“Hunter who trained a friend of mine had it. Then when Jim died, well.” He shrugs, “Hunting don’t really allow much for families. Most of Jim’s personal stuff came to me, what didn’t go back to his church anyway.”

Carefully, Castiel runs his hand over the cover, “It came home.” He huffs a laugh and turns back to the entry Bobby had found:

 

> _October 10, 1871-- Whatever future generations say, the fire did not start in Mrs. O’Leary’s barn with an oil lantern. I do not know exactly what caused the blaze, but having spent the past two days chasing a soulless creature through an inferno, I think it more likely the local midwife while attempting to revive one of the neighborhood sons._
> 
> _The boy led me on quite the chase before escaping through the blaze. Whatever the witch has done, it is neither a revenant nor ghoul nor any other creature I am familiar with. It has all the memories of the deceased, but none of the emotions, nor does it stop for food or drink or even sleep. I am resting today before resuming my search. I can only hope I reach him before he leaves Chicago entirely._
> 
> _October 13-- A second witch, or perhaps one of the priests at St. Michael’s, found the boy and, having neither the heart nor training to kill him, restored his soul through some method I am endeavoring to discover. There has been talk in the neighborhood of Death stalking the streets, but with a fire of this magnitude, that is to be expected. None of the neighborhood will speak to me, I am reduced to listening at the public house, waiting for someone to mention the information that I need in order to quit this situation._
> 
> _The boy and his parents have disappeared. No one admits to knowing where they have gone, content to blame the blaze on the O’Leary’s cow or one of the illicit gambling houses that sprout like mushrooms after a rain._
> 
> _October 22-- Finally, finally! The younger priest, Father Campbell, at St. Michael’s spoke out of turn near one of the young children I have been paying to listen. The man actually created a contract with Death Himself in exchange for the boy’s soul. The information fits with folktales and the talk of old women._
> 
> _There have been some disturbing stories out of Kansas in the past months. Since my immediate mystery cannot be solved without resorting to a table rapper, I think I will go there and see what can be found._

“Cas?”

“Make sure Dean sees this, and Sam, once he’s back to himself. Jesse Howard was--” He does a quick count, “Their three times great-grandfather, through Mary’s side of the family, of course.”

“Hunters on both sides of her family? She never had a chance, no matter what she wanted.” Bobby gives the journal in Castiel’s hands a long look. “At least we know that this has happened before.”

“Summoning Death might be an option, but one I’d rather avoid if possible. Burning down Sioux Falls isn’t much of an improvement over Sam being soulless.”

Bobby nods before burrowing back into the piles of books on his desk. Eying the pile of hunts from other hunters, Castiel finishes off his beer before starting to organize them. Mapping them creates something like a pattern-- according to Dean-- so the more information they can pin up the better.

A couple hours later, he wanders out to the yard where Dean is, once again, buried deep in the guts of the Continental. Dean has spent hours working on the car, tearing it apart and putting it back together, always claiming Castiel needs his own transportation. Castiel has no idea why he’s so intent on getting the car in perfect condition.

Cas leans against the porch rail, watching Dean work. Maybe now is the time to ask why Dean insists that Castiel be ready to stand on his own despite sharing his bed and his car, while Dean has his hands busy with a project. “Why are you doing this? It functioned, got me from place to place.”

Dean looks at him strangely before glancing back down to where he’s connecting something or another. “Yeah, she ran, barely. That’s not good enough. What happens when we separate, or you want to do your own thing? You need your own car.”

“When we separate?” He pushes down the disappointment that rushes through him. He tries to figure out what changed between three weeks ago-- when Dean had been gung-ho about meeting up with Lisa-- and now-- when Dean is spending the vast majority of his day avoiding him and Bobby both. “You mentioned meeting Lisa when we were in Montana. I thought…” His voice fails, too full of _something_ to continue.

Dean steps back from the car, taking a few steps towards Cas on the porch before stopping. “Yeah, you need to meet her if we-” Cutting himself off, he digs in his pocket, tosses Castiel the keys. “Start ‘er up, let’s make sure I didn’t screw something up.”

Puzzled, Castiel crosses to the car and starts it, pressing the gas when Dean shouts. They listen critically to the engine for a few minutes before Dean nods and lowers the hood. “Alright, man. You can turn her off. She’s done. You have your own wheels again. If you want to get away from me or whatever.”

Castiel stares at him, incredulously.

“I don’t know, Cas. It’s happened before. People take off. It’s what they do.”

Castiel doesn’t move while Dean puts his tools away. “What about Lisa?”

“Right. You’ll like her I think. I’m sure you’ll love Ben.”

“Are you being deliberately vague? I don’t understand.”

“Man, don’t make me explain it all right now. I’m all sweaty. Let me get clean first.”

 

 

Dean spends more time in the shower thinking about hellhounds and ghouls than he does about getting clean or even what he’s going to tell Cas. He doesn’t have time to deal with the erection that invariable follows thinking about making out with Cas.

He pushes the fantasy of a domestic life aside again. Up to his ears in crises is not the time to be worrying about the future.

He pulls on his only pair of jeans without grease or blood stains and an overshirt. If he’s going to take Cas on a date, he needs to make an effort. He deserves that much.

He’s running low on clothes. He needs to do laundry, or bring more underwear, when he leaves Cicero again after Lisa’s birthday. When _they_ leave Cicero again.

He needs to ask Cas about meeting her again, especially now that he has a plan. At least Cas still sounded interested, kinda, out in the yard. Or maybe he was just confused about Dean insisting on them meeting up with Lisa before they move beyond bed sharing and hand holding.

Pulling on his socks and boots, he wanders downstairs to the study where Cas and Bobby are looking at yet another book. “Bobby, we’re gonna go grab some pizza. You want anything?”

Cas tilts his head, “We are?”

“Yeah, man.” Shit, hadn’t he asked? “Unless you want chili again.” He could have sworn he asked if Cas wanted to get dinner.

“No, pizza sounds good. Let me…” Cas trails off before rushing upstairs.

Bobby smirks at his slight panic. “Bring back some more beer, the normal stuff, not that IPA bullshit you’ve been drinking.” So Bobby picked up that this is supposed to be a date. Or maybe that was the slightly nicer clothes.

“Yeah, yeah.” A grin blooms across Dean’s face. “Want me to say hi to the sheriff for you too? She seemed awfully concerned about you when I ran into her last week.”

“Idjit. I just want some peace and quiet without you banging around all the time.”

Cas clatters back downstairs wearing one of his newer shirts and grins too. “The sheriff is a credit to her profession. Perhaps she won’t look too closely at the lot when coming to visit.”

They run laughing from the room and out to their cars.

Dean stops at the Continental. “She’s road ready. Wanna take her instead of Baby? Give you some time behind the wheel?”

Cas blinks at him for a moment before digging in his pocket for his keys. “Where am I going?”

“Pick a direction, let’s stretch her legs.” Mostly, Dean wants to enjoy time with Cas for a little while longer before… well, before.

It’s been years since the last time Dean was in the passenger seat for anyone but Sam. But Cas handles the car like he was born to it, taking her out on the old state highway and heading towards nowhere. Dean relaxes into the seat and stretches his hand across the center console.

He can do this, trust Cas.

All he needs to do, ever, is trust Cas. After over two years of trusting him with his life, sanity, and brother, it doesn’t make sense that driving is the thing that is causing his brain to lock up. Well, driving and his relationship with Lisa.

He stays silent, listening to the soft drone of the radio-- one of the University’s NPR stations-- and road noise.

“You were going to explain.”

“Uh. Yeah. So… Me and Lis. We’ve got a good thing going. But she also has a good thing going with Nikki next door and that’s been going on since the studio opened.” Dean fiddles with the window crank, spinning the knob. “I, uh… yeah. Ethical communication stuff. We’re not exclusive, but before we go beyond first base with new partners, we bring them home, introduce them properly.”

Cas is silent for a moment, one hand steady on the steering wheel while the other drops down to take Dean’s. “Polyamory is not uncommon, Dean.” Dean releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “If I need to meet Lisa prior to us moving forward physically, that can certainly be accomplished.”

Dean nods, relief flooding in. Cas doesn’t hate him, doesn’t think he’s weird. “I uh… want a lot more than just sex.”

Cas’s smile is nearly blinding, even in the dim twilight of the car radio. “Good. Because I do too. Yes, I want to meet Lisa. Ben too, if that’s okay.” He pauses a moment. “I don’t think you realize how much you talk to them or about them.”

“I can stop, if it’s a problem.” Or try to anyway. It’s not like he realized he was doing it.

“It’s not a problem. You smile more now.” Dean ducks his face to hide the blush, and doesn’t say anything. Cas squeezes his hand before dropping it to ease the car around a corner. “Did you have a time in mind for me to meet Lisa?”

“Ben’s last game of the season is next Wednesday, and Lisa’s birthday is Friday. I was going to head back early Wednesday morning, thought maybe you’d come along?”

“That works. Now, I believe you promised me pizza?”

Dean laughs, awkwardness dropping away. “Yeah. Place is downtown. Either turn around and head south along here, or if you want to drive a while longer, cut over to the interstate and take that back south, make a big loop.”

Cas nods, dropping his hand back down to take Dean’s again. It’s silent except for the radio again, but no longer tense and waiting. Dean’s used to this silence on drives, where everything’s been said and it’s just waiting for something new.

 

 

It’s not that easy, of course. They still have work to do before escaping for a weekend. Their relief at not having to head to Utah is cut short by Sam calling with a hunt in Elwood, Indiana. First born children are disappearing, and while the locals seem pretty certain it’s aliens, there’s no such thing. It seems silly for them to drive separately to Lisa’s when the hunt is only thirty minutes away, even if Sam is expecting only Dean.

Cas knows Sam, even soulless, will never intentionally hurt him. That much has become obvious over the past several months. Samuel and the other Campbells however… even without Dean’s warning, he wouldn’t have trusted any of them at his back.

He might not get a choice: they’re barely in town for a day before Dean disappears checking out a corn field near where the abductions have been taking place. He convinces Sam to hold off on calling in more back up immediately, but that won’t last forever.

(It works long enough for Sam to pick up a young woman at the UFO encampment and bring her back to their motel. Distracted, even if he doesn’t sleep, should buy Castiel several more hours to find Dean before anyone else gets called in.)

He’s doing a good job at staying on task and researching until Lisa calls. They’ve spoken on the phone a few times-- small talk about the weather, mostly, when Castiel answers Dean’s phone because he’s driving or has his hands full-- but nothing like this, nothing even approaching this. Castiel didn’t even realize she had his number.

He thinks she’s been drinking, slurring slightly until he breaks the news of Dean’s disappearance. In all his existence, he’s never heard someone sober up that fast: in the space of three sentences, she’s goes from buzzed flirtation to deadly concern, offering to drive north to help search.

There’s a particularly loud screech from Sam’s room next door and Castiel winces. “Sam and I can handle it. I am fairly certain that I know what we’re dealing with and Dean should be returned before morning.”

“And if he’s not?”

“I’ll go after him. Hopefully it won’t come to that, the fae realms are rarely conducive to arriving at baseball games on time, but Dean will be returned to us.” Briefly, he wonders if he’s overstepping his bounds before realizing he doesn’t care. He has as much right to worry about Dean as she does.

“Attaboy, Cas.” He can hear the smile in her voice, “Where’s Sam anyway? I thought he’d be with you, helping research or whatever. Dean said that you were meeting up to help him out.”

The thumping and squeaking against the wall speeds up slightly and Castiel sighs. “Currently? Next door, making sure no one in this wing of the motel gets any sleep.”

“Seriously? He’s banging someone? Now?”

“Apparently, missing one’s soul is good for refractory periods. She did seem like a very nice young woman, very concerned about his missing brother.”

“Jesus fuck.” She pauses. “Good hunting tomorrow.”

“Thank you. We’ll see you and Ben Wednesday.”

They hang up and Castiel looks out the window. Even this late, he can see well enough to investigate if he needs to do so, but the first thing Dean will do is come back to the motel. It’s driving him mad to be stuck here, but there’s nothing else he can do tonight.

In the end, he flips through the books they have with them again. They should have expected one of the fairy tribes to be the culprit since only first born children have been taken. It’s been centuries since the fae were regularly causing trouble on Earth though, long enough for it to never be anyone’s first instinct. It does make him wonder why they’re causing trouble now.

Shouting next door wakes him hours later from where he’s dozed off at the table. Carefully peeling a journal page from his cheek, Castiel rubs guiltily at the drool stain. At least this is Dean’s journal, not John’s or one of the irreplaceable antiques. Not bothering with a jacket, he lets himself out of his and Dean’s room and blearily makes his way next door to Sam’s.

The yelling is even louder outside, Dean’s raised voice easily carrying through the door and window. The door is jerked open before Castiel even knocks. The young woman Sam had brought back to the room awkwardly tries to get her jacket and boots on at the same time. Castiel catches her by the elbow before she trips over her own feet. “Take a moment. Dean’s just had a long night.”

She looks up at him, pulling the door closed behind her. “But it’s so exciting! They brought him back! I have so many questions. Do you think he’ll answer them later? Maybe over breakfast?”

Appalled, Castiel looks at her. “Do I think he’ll answer questions about being kidnapped by fae over substandard coffee and hash browns? No.” He takes her jacket while she pulls her boots on, surveying the parking lot. “Do you… is your car here?”

“Nah. But it’s alright, it’s only about a mile to my camper.” Taking her jacket, she settles it over her shoulders. “Sam has my number, if Dean wants to talk. After your family time, of course. That’s important.”

“Of course.” Castiel trails off as she starts walking towards town. He knocks once she’s well and truly on her way.

Dean still looks pissed when he yanks open the door, but it fades momentarily when he sees Castiel. He reaches for Dean’s hand, brushing some of the dirt and mud off his jacket with the other. Softly, he asks, “Hey, you okay?”

Dean blinks slowly, nodding before his face steels itself again. Turning back to Sam, “What the hell, Sam? You were just going to bang Patchouli until I came back?”

“We’d already run down all the leads. Cas had a plan for morning. Might as well have some fun.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“What was I supposed to do, to sit in the dark and suffer? Cas was already handling that part. One of us might as well not be awful about it. You came back anyway.”

Dean stares at Sam for a moment before turning back to Castiel. “I just had a close encounter and won. Am I really being that weird about this?”

“Fae, not aliens. But--” Castiel shrugs, “you can be as weird about it as you like. Makes no difference to me. You should, however, take a shower.”

Dean looks between them, mutters “You’re fucking with me. Both of you.” Jerking the door back open, he announces, “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

For a moment, Castiel thinks he sees a flash of the old Sam, the one he keeps expecting to see, in the wake of Dean’s exit. Then it drops away, leaving the emotionless being behind. “Right. Sure. I’ll be around when you guys are ready to start the day.”

Castiel swallows his guilt and follows Dean from the room.

Dean is already in the shower, humming some rock song just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water. It’s more of a relief than Castiel expected to have Dean back under the same roof. He never doubted that Dean would be returned to him, but how quickly he was returned is gratifying.

Speaking of which, he picks up his phone from where he’d left it on the table and sends Lisa a quick text, just to reassure her since it’s far too early to call.

_< < Dean safe. No reason we shouldn’t be at Ben’s game. :)_

The shower cuts off while he’s typing, Dean emerging as he presses send.

Oh.

The cheap white towel is barely clinging to Dean’s hips, damp patches dragging over thighs, water drips from his hair.

Castiel drops his phone onto the table with a clatter, watching as Dean pulls his underwear up under the towel. Boxer briefs in place, Dean whips the towel off, tossing it onto the bed while he digs for a t-shirt. Every motion Dean makes is another distraction.

Castiel isn’t entirely certain he’s breathing. He is on his feet and far, far too close to Dean without even thinking about it.

Dean startles when Castiel runs his finger tips around a scrape on his shoulder, red and barely scabbed over. He wants to push Dean onto the bed, kiss it until it heals. He wants to heal everything, even the random scars that Dean’s picked up over the past couple of years.

“Cas, let me put my shirt on.” Dean’s voice is quiet, exhaustion giving way to something Castiel can’t identify.

“I should…” He doesn’t know what he should do.

“You should lose the jeans and shoes and come to bed. I need a few hours before we haul off to hunt Tinkerbelle.”

It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed. It’s increasingly common since that first time in Montana. This is, however, the first night that Castiel has actually been worried about staying within Dean’s boundaries. If it were just lust, he could ignore it like he did for over a year, tuning it out in favor of bad TV or watching Dean sleep. But it’s not; it’s worry and love and irritation and attraction swirled into a giant ball of _something_ sitting in his chest, begging him to touch Dean, reassurance that Dean is alive and here and will be beside him in the morning when they bring war to the faerie courts.

Or, as Dean lets out a soft snore wrapped in Castiel’s arms, maybe they’ll start with breakfast.

 

 

The boys are midway through their warm-up, Lisa and a few of the other parents sitting in the bleachers, chatting before the game starts. The deep rumble of the Impala pulses along the road behind her, heading towards the parking lot on the other side of the field.

When it stops, she can barely see two heads in the car from across the field with the afternoon behind them. The passenger-- not Dean, so it must be Cas-- climbs out of the car, shading his face against the evening sun. Dean takes a moment longer before climbing out.

He’s not moving like he’s hurt, which is a relief. Even after Cas’s text and Dean’s phone call Monday morning, she’d been worried.

He’s missed most of the games, but the other parents know Dean from summer practices, even if she’s avoided answering questions about where he’s been for the past few weeks. There’s some light-hearted teasing as she hurries down the bleachers, but they know where she’s going.

Lisa breaks into a light jog as she rounds the corner of the field, weaving between other families heading towards the ballfields. Dean’s still standing by the car, chatting with Cas over the roof. His face lights up when he sees her, stepping away from the car and wrapping his arms around her.

“Hey, Lis.”

Oh, she’d missed this. Going up on tiptoes, she kisses his grin. “Hey, yourself. Glad you made it.”

His smile goes tight for a moment, eyes darting around the parking lot. “Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He drops a hand to lock the trunk before the other man forward. “Cas, man, come meet Lisa.”

Even after chatting with him on the phone and cajoling a photo out of Dean, she feels wholly unprepared. The photo must have been old, or taken while they were investigating a case or something. Because nothing prepared her for the gorgeous man walking towards her in jeans with a hole in the knee and a t-shirt she recognizes from Dean’s laundry basket, or the humor lurking in his face.

“Hello, Lisa.”

Raising an eyebrow, she ignores the proffered hand, pulling Cas into a brief hug instead. “Hi, Cas.” His smile is amazing too. Fuck, what has she gotten herself into?

Dean, the jerk, waggles his eyebrows before gesturing towards the field. “C’mon. I wanna grab a hot dog before the game starts. Maybe some peanuts.” He pauses, switches to the shy kid she only sees when he’s feeling insecure. “I mean, if you guys…”

“Go ahead, babe. Grab us something too? We’ll save you a seat.” Lisa makes a show of taking Cas’s arm. “After all, we have lots to talk about.”

“Crap. That’s what I’m worrying about.”

Cas flashes a grin. “Go ahead, Dean. We’ll be fine.”

The doubt in Dean’s eyes transforms into terror, but he walks towards the concessions stand anyway.

Cas is immediately the center of attention among the team parents. Their kids have been playing together for years. Any new person is going to garner a shit ton of scrutiny, even if he only shows up for the last game of the season.

Karen pounces first, “Lisa, who’s this?”

She inwardly winces, she should have expected this. “Everyone, this is Cas. He’s a friend of Dean’s.”

Cas waves awkwardly, but doesn’t say much beyond generic pleasantries. They pass a few minutes in small talk, idly watching the kids warm up. There’s the occasional pointed question from the single moms-- fewer than Lisa expected-- regarding Cas’s availability, but he evades them with ease, citing a partner who is away, gender neatly unspecified.

It’s the sort of linguistic gymnastics that she never would have expected from him, not after the stories that Dean’s told.

Dean passes up a couple sodas and hot dogs before too long, garnering the bulk of the pre-game attention. “Hi, all. Nice to see you again.” One of the dads immediately pounces, drawing Dean into a conversation about ancient weaponry. The game passes quickly, cheering on their kids and chatting between innings.

Dean pops off the bleachers as soon as the game is called, waiting at the gate for the teams to finish their high-fives before Ben tackles him. Watching them, Lisa smiles. They’re so good for each other.

It’s nearly ten before they get home. Ben goes to bed almost immediately, clearly exhausted. Pouring herself a glass of wine, Lisa watches Dean and Cas settle onto the corner of the couch. Breathing a sigh of relief, she double checks for any hitches in their movements, any hurts Dean had managed to hide. There doesn’t appear to be anything, and he’s melting into the corner of the couch, taking Cas with him.

“Dean, Cas? Beer?”

There’s a pause before Dean calls back, “Sure.” Cas shakes his head no.

It doesn’t take long to bring the beer and her wine out, setting them on the coffee table before burying herself into Dean’s other side. They don’t talk much, just cuddle, taking comfort in each other’s presence. She and Cas start out on completely opposite sides, but as they settle into the couch, they blend together as well.

Lisa wakes up, much later, when Dean shifts to lie down more fully. He and Cas both have lost their shoes and stretched their legs out. All three of them are in an impossible tangle, limbs intertwined, using whatever is within reach for pillows. Dean has listed over onto his side, wedged between Lisa’s torso and the back of the couch. She has her face buried in his hip while Cas mirrors her on Dean’s other side, stretching his legs out on the other side of the couch.

Craning her head, the blinking clock on the DVD player says it’s nearly three, and long past time for them to be in a proper bed. Beds? They’re both kinda huge, can all three of them even fit in her bed? She blinks slowly. Doesn’t matter, they need to move anyway or they’re going to hate themselves in the morning.

She carefully pokes them both awake, waiting for them to wake up before pointing them upstairs. They’re all slow to untangle themselves, Cas waiting awkwardly when Lisa takes their glasses to the kitchen and Dean checks the doors and locks. Then it’s bedtime routines and changing clothes and falling into bed without thought until the alarm goes off.

Morning arrives way too early. Cas sleepily lets her out of the bed before snuggling back in next to Dean. Lisa drops a kiss on both their foreheads before tugging on her robe and going downstairs to get the coffee started.

An extra large pot of coffee, enough for all three of them-- although she might drink it all if they don’t get out of bed soon-- while listening to make sure Ben catches his bus. Thankfully, it’s not her week for the sunrise class, so being slow to move this morning doesn’t screw her whole day.

Lisa’s contemplating going back upstairs, when there’s an unfamiliar creak on the stairs. A moment later, Cas comes in, glaring at the morning light outside the windows.

It’s adorable. His hair is sticking up in all directions, getting worse every time he runs a hand through it. He turns the glare onto the coffee maker and her while continuing to blink against the sun. Silently, she reaches over and pulls out another mug off the rack, handing it to him as he passes.

“Milk in the fridge, sugar in the canister.” He blinks his gratitude to her, and goes right back to adorable.

It’s not the worst thing to have a crush on Cas, but adding another person to her life might be too much to manage right now.

At least he and Dean will be off looking after each other.

Cas settles onto the other stool at the counter, sipping his coffee (Sugar, no milk. Good to know), and glaring at the world. Maybe it’s a ‘Cas in the morning’ thing, not a thing against her. She waits until he finishes his first cup, and she’s halfway through her second before attempting conversation.

“Did Dean get any sleep Tuesday night?”

He shakes his head, curling his arms around his mug. “Some. Not enough.” He looks at her, searching for something before his face clears. “Nightmares, mostly. The hunt involved children and…”

Lisa remembers, suddenly, the look on Dean’s face when he showed up three years ago, happy to see her until kids started getting hurt, then the carefree guy she knew disappeared. Completely focused on getting the kids back, unharmed. “He doesn’t deal well when kids get hurt. Yeah.”

He nods, staring down into his cup. A few minutes pass in silence. After he finishes his second cup, he pushes away from the counter. “Thank you for the coffee, and the place to sleep last night. I’ll…” He looks up at the ceiling, towards the master bedroom, “Let Dean know, when he wakes up, that I’ll meet him back at Bobby’s?’

“You’re leaving?”

“I don’t wish to intrude. I realize it was important that we meet, and I wanted to meet you too! I don’t, however, want to be in the way all weekend.”

Dammit, Dean. “Cas, I want you to stay. If you want. I like hearing about you, I want to get to know you. You seem like a great guy. Unless it’s a religious thing.” She downs the rest of her coffee before pinning him with her best disappointed mom face. “I know poly is wrong according to Christianity or whatever, but I’d hoped that we could at least manage to be civil to each other for Dean’s sake.”

He stares at her. She’s starting to get the impression he does that a lot, “Who said that? It’s nonsense. My father doesn’t care about human relationships, as long as they’re respectful. Of course we can be civil.”

“So stick around, maybe we can even manage friends.”

The worry doesn’t completely disappear from his face, but it relaxes a little bit. “If I won’t be intruding.”

“Not even a little.” The upstairs shower turns on, and she grins at him. “Now, my birthday weekend starts today. Want to help me tackle my first present?”

His eyes widen as he fumbles the coffee cup. “Uh--”

“Cas, babe. It’s okay to say no. We’ll be respectful of your boundaries, same as you were respectful of ours.”

“That’s not it. I just...”

“We’ll figure it out when we get up there.” She grabs his hand and drags him upstairs, hollering for Dean to hold up, she wants to join.


	5. Chapter 5

She can taste sulfur in the air, the twisted souls and their human pets hunting her children, searching for a way into her home. They stalk her children, run them down like foxes, seeking knowledge that only the oldest have, so they can steal the dead to use as sources of power.

This cannot be allowed.

When she escaped her captivity, she instinctively returned to where she felt safest, her oldest home. It will not welcome everyone though. If she calls her children to her, she must move to a place that can support them. One of the human cities, where they gather against the dark. There’s one not far south from here, but it lacks the dark some of her children crave. Far better to head west, find a place that still sees the true night.

She collects herself and her youngest in preparation of leaving. Silently, she warns her eldest children of the sulfur-hunters, or sulfur in general, to kill any they find. They will pass the word, leaving her free to find a new place to call home.

If she happens to kill a few of these not-humans in the process, so be it.

 

 

In a way, knowing he’s missing his soul makes it easier to pretend with Samuel and all the cousins that have popped out of the woodwork. He files their names and personalities away like obituaries and carries on, ignoring their stares.

Sam’s training was different than their cousins’, better, trained into this life from before he could walk. Finally something Dad succeeded at.

(He thinks, that if he had emotions, he’d be pissed that the rest of his family got to have normal childhoods. Yet another way Dad managed to fuck them over. Maybe Dean will tell him, at some point, if that’s appropriate.)

There’s a scoreboard at the Campbell compound, mostly as a joke Sam thinks. But the sidelong looks get longer and sharper as the summer wears on, as he puts up more hunts completed, fewer civilians killed. Gwen and Christian are the closest, but still trailing.

After a couple months of that, he stops trying to mimic the appropriate reactions. He has nothing to gain from impressing the Campbells, so why put forth that much effort?

The scoreboard bothers him though. He can work the statistics, he knows the average length for a hunt for any given monster, and he can follow a trail. If the Campbells are nearly as good as they say they are, there should be more hunts on that board.

He finds Samuel’s logbook a couple weeks after the run-in with Dean. Yeah, there are notes for all the completed hunts from the entire family, but that’s not terribly alarming. He’s seen odder journals. It doesn’t seem strange at all until he looks closer. Records for every hunt: monster name and type- that’s to be expected; where and when they were taken and delivered- that is _not_. He’s the only one doing the damn job. Everyone else is capturing monsters and turning them over to someone.

Sam doesn’t have a soul, but he does have a brother. And that’s almost the same thing.

_< < We need to talk. Something is wrong._

_> > Yeah. My brother’s been alive since May and only contacts me when he wants something. That’s certainly something wrong._

_< < Just tell me where you are. You need to see this._

_> > Skinwalker in Manhattan, KS._

Of course, Dean won’t make this easy. He contemplates not going, it’s possible that this is nothing, just a family thing that he’s not part of. It doesn’t seem like family business though.

He leaves everything where he found it, snapping photos of the relevant pages before letting himself out of the office and heading for the car lot. If Sam leaves now, he can be in Kansas by midnight.

 

 

Bobby calls with a hunt Monday morning and almost manages to sound apologetic. Dean’s already up. Lisa has the early class this week and Cas went with her, leaving him no good reason to stay in bed. All the same, he is in no way prepared to start his day when the phone rings.

There’s something like a shapeshifter killing frat boys around the Kansas State campus. Looking at the newspapers and police reports that Bobby emails over, he and Cas need to haul ass to get to over to Manhattan.

He’s not leaving alone this time, which helps, but watching Lisa’s cheerful blue house in the rearview mirror somehow hurts worse. Last time it was a week that turned into a month. This time he’s not even pretending to know when he-- they-- will be home. The best he can promise is that they’ll be home whenever they can.

Goddamn, this sucks. Maybe he should actually retire, open up a roadhouse, help that way. At least he has Cas with him. Dean slides his hand across the front seat as he maneuvers the car onto the highway, catching Cas’s smile out of the corner of his eye.

They make good time across Illinois and Missouri, managing to avoid what counts for rush hour along Highway 36, grab dinner at one of the truck stops in western Missouri, and finally arriving in Manhattan at nearly one in the morning. One cheap motel on the south side of town and Dean’s collapsing into bed, curled around Cas.

There’s another death while they sleep, and this one doesn’t fit the pattern. The newspaper doesn’t have much, but it’s enough to make sure they’re at the county morgue as early as they can manage.

“Agents Yarrow and Stookey. You’re here about the latest victim?” Doctor Johnson comes to fetch them from the lobby himself, white lab coat unable to hide the superhero shirt underneath, nor the cheerful smile. Of all the people Dean meets in these circumstances, the MEs are universally the happiest. Probably says something about the state of the world.

“Ah. Yes.” He shakes Doctor Johnson’s hand quickly. “The other bodies too, if they’re available.”

“The one from last week isn’t. County law says we have to release the body to the family within ninety-six hours unless it was clearly a homicide. And, unfortunately, me having a gut feeling doesn’t count.”

Cas cocks his head to the side, “What do you mean, gut feeling?”

“Let me grab the reports real quick.” Johnson leads them to his office. “I mean… instinct. I’ve been doing this job pretty much since I graduated in ‘95. Fifteen years of experience, all of it in the rural midwest, and you get a feeling about certain ones.” Picking up a couple of folders from his desk, he leads them into morgue. “That, and we have a private message board for weird cases.”

Dean stops, just inside the door. “Who’s we?”

“Some of the other coroners and ME’s set it up.” Johnson must interpret his expression for anger and rushes to reassure him. “We’re careful not to break patient or legal confidentiality. No worries there. We abide by the ethics committees. But sometimes the only person who can understand three mauled bodies inside a week is someone who had a body with a spike driven into its brain for a good twenty minutes before it died from adrenaline overdose. Ya know?”

“Yeah. I get it.” Holy shit. Skinwalkers, wraiths, and god knows what else, just sitting around on the internet being discussed as the shitty parts of folk’s jobs, waiting for someone to put it together. Shaking the thought free from his head, Dean takes the folders and looks through them. “Can we get copies of these?”

“Those are actually for you. Didn’t think the X-Files team would want to wait around, so I took the liberty.” He pulls out the second victim. “Look fast. He’s being released to his family this afternoon.”

Dean places the reports on a table to the side and snags a pair of gloves. Even after seeing the crime scene photos, he’s still unprepared for the devastation of the victim’s chest. “Holy crap.” The entire cavity is mush and soup, a gaping hole all the way through to the spine. He meets Cas’s eyes, then glances over at Johnson.

“Pretty much. Whole kit and kaboodle is just… destroyed. There’s traces of most things, but…” Johnson trails off, looking intently at Cas, before quickly crossing to the door and flipping the lock. “Guys, just tell me that it’s werewolves or whatever so I can have my crisis and then do my damn job.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Fifteen years at doing this, remember?” He heaves a sigh, runs his hand through his hair. “Most years, I get one, _maybe_ two, weird ones. Few years back, they started escalating. Then, about a year ago, a bunch of us got called in from all over to help out where the entire fucking town was murdered. Not a small town either, Carthage has… had nearly fourteen thousand people. Still have no idea how y’all covered that up.” Dean watches, horrified, as Johnson doesn’t fall apart crying, even though he clearly wants to.

“Carthage was,” Cas sighs, “Carthage was unfortunate. We were too late to stop it.”

“Look, dude, Johnson. If you want to poke behind that curtain, I’ll tell you. But not here, not now.” Dean shrugs at Cas. There’s no hiding this, better to just ride the wave.

Johnson looks at him, meeting his eyes and staring a bit too hard, before straightening. “Officially, the first two were gored by a buck and bled out before they could reach help. Other animals eviscerated the bodies and ate the organs before being scared off by the kids who found the body. I’ve not come to official conclusions on the last one, but she looks similar.”

“Unofficially?”

“Something took a huge ass swipe at them, caught flesh, and killed them. Body cavity was ripped open before being rummaged around in. Whatever did it pulled out almost everything and toted it off to locations unknown for reasons unknown.”

“How certain are you of the times of death? If everything was missing…” Dean trails off.

“Probably within twelve hours. Not having a liver introduces a lot of variables.” Johnson is starting to look overwhelmed, they need to get out of here before he shuts down completely.

“Alright. Thank you.” Dean passes him a card. “Here’s my number. When you finish the autopsy on number three, give me a call. Cas and I’ll see what we can find to make all this stop.”

“And the other thing?”

“We need to button this one up before more people get hurt. After that, we can talk.”

Johnson sees them to the door in a sort of shellshocked haze.

Dean leans back against the driver’s seat before putting the Impala into drive. “That was weird, right? Coroners across the country are tracking hunts through a website?”

“I’ll take your word for it that it was weird.”

Dean lets out a short laugh, “Yes, Cas. That was weird. Most folks don’t take confirmation nearly that well.”

“Shall we find something to eat before asking around campus?”

“Yeah. Let Bobby know about that message board too. I don’t think it’s doing any harm, but might want to warn folks about it. Hell, maybe find a way to get him access.” Cas’s hand is warm against the back of Dean’s neck, rubbing slightly. Turning his head to drop a kiss on Cas’s wrist, Dean sighs when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_> > We need to talk. Something is wrong._

He sends the last text and flings his phone into the backseat. “Dammit, Sam.”

Cas looks up from the preliminary report on the last victim, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. Something about the Campbells is suddenly rubbing him the wrong way.” He sighs, pulls out of the parking lot and heads towards campus. “If he was himself, I’d say it’s his normal problem with authority figures. Without his soul, there’s no fucking telling. Whatever. Food then student records?”

“Sure.”

They’re lingering over their fries and coffee when Cas turns the folders around so Dean can read them.

“I don’t believe this is caused by a skinwalker. The bite radius, the claw marks.” Cas pushes the diagrammed injuries towards Dean. “The only reason to classify this as an animal attack is because of the teeth and claws used, but no dog matches these.”

“Was Johnson able to identify the fur?”

“Human, but nothing else.”

“Cas, it’s the wrong time of the month for it to be a werewolf. Full moon was last week, there’s no way these were just lying around for a week.”

“The first victim, Bret, was found Sunday afternoon but was last seen leaving a party Saturday night. The second victim, Tyler, wasn’t found until Tuesday, but his roommate hadn’t seen him since Friday.”

“The night of the full moon.” Dean pulls the calendar up on his phone, matches dates to the moon cycle. “That explains the first two, but what about the one from last night? You saw her, no way she’s been dead since the weekend.”

“Werewolf is the only thing that fits.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean trails off. Cas is right. Either this is something new or werewolves are hunting out of season. One is near impossible, the other is merely unlikely. Flagging down their server for the check, he sticks his phone back in his pocket. “Do you want to call Bobby, get him caught up, see if maybe he’s got an idea?”

“I can do that while you find the student records.”

By mid-afternoon, they have jack with a side of squat. Bobby busts the last hope Dean had that it wasn’t werewolves within a few minutes of being on the phone: apparently this isn’t the first werewolf hunting outside its cycle he’s heard about in the last week or so. Because hunting wasn’t hard enough when everything played by the rules. They’re no closer to figuring out who or where the wolf is hanging out or even why they went after the three existing victims.

Dean’s getting frustrated until he manages to get access to the work email of the third victim, Tammy. “Cas, take a look at this.” Dean turns the laptop around so Cas can see the incident report on-screen in the sent emails. “I see two dead frat boys and a dead security guard and am wondering where our international student is.”

Cas scans the email chains. “I think this goes back further than just last month. However, she certainly seems like a good place to start.”

It takes the rest of the evening to hack into the campus police department’s security camera recordings and find the attacks: a humanoid blur stalking Bret and Tyler across campus, not even that when Tammy was attacked. Dean sighs before closing up the computer. The only way they’re going to find the werewolf is to stake out the campus, and that’s a crap shoot.

 

 

Castiel isn’t entirely certain what to do with himself when Sam shows up, far earlier than either he or Dean had been expecting. Of course Sam made excellent time, he doesn’t get tired, or hungry, or need to use the bathroom. Just fill up the truck and go.

Cas can do that too, but the more time he spends living as a human, the less he wants to go back to being an angel. Increasingly, he thinks he’ll just let his grace go after they get Sam’s soul back. If it’s even an option.

Dean will object. But maybe he and Lisa can convince Dean that giving his grace up is not the end of the world. Giving it up isn’t the same as cutting it out anyway. Grimacing, Castiel pushes the thought away. No point in thinking about it yet. He’s still weeks from having enough grace to even try rescuing Sam again.

In the meantime, there’s Sam, sitting at the desk in their tiny motel room, pretending to have a soul and emotions. It frightens Cas, how easily Sam fooled him. He should have expected some sort of backlash.

Dean’s hand nudges his hip so he tunes back in to what Sam is saying. Carefully, Castiel interlaces their fingers.

“This bothers me. I don’t know what’s happening to these monsters, just that they’re disappearing.” Sam does look distressed. “We’re hunters, killing is part of the gig. But kidnapping? That’s something else, not what I signed up for.”

“Alright, Sam.” Dean sighs, “We can look into it. We need to wrap this one up first, but then we’ll start looking into where your missing monsters are.”

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand and stands. “Dean, you catch Sam up on where we are. I’ll pick up dinner.”

“You okay?”

He blinks, consciously relaxing his jaw. “I’m too frustrated to be productive. If I look at those reports another time, I… I don’t know what I’m going to do.” There’s no point in not being honest about how frustrated he is. “Accordingly, dinner. Sam, would you like for me to pick you up anything?”

“I’m good.”

Of course he is. Why bother with food. Dean walks him to the door, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. “Hey, for real. You okay? You seem off.”

Cas shakes his head. “The last act I attempted as an angel is sitting in there, managing to be both a better angel and human than me, his very presence mocking me in my failure.”

“Uh…”

“It’s okay, Dean. I’ll be okay. Just frustrated. So I’m going to get dinner.”

Hesitantly, Dean nods, rocking forward to drop a kiss on his cheek. “If that’s what you need to do.” He presses the Impala’s keys into Cas’s hand. “Don’t wreck her.” And then he’s back in the room, the closing door muffling his words to Sam.

Cas looks down at the keys in his hand. This is unexpected, but he’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

He realizes quickly that Thursday night in a college town means it’s going to take a while to get any food at all. Dropping off his order at a Thai place near campus, he decides to walk around while waiting. It’s a nice night, there’s a park across the street, and he needs to _stop worrying about Sam_.

He’s still telling himself that when someone bumps into him, tripping on the curb and aiming for the park. Without thinking, he grabs their arm, keeping her upright, “Are you-”

The woman breaks loose with a growl, yellow eyes flashing in the streetlights, as she dashes between cars. He pulls his phone out of his pocket on auto-pilot, trying to track her in the shadows. “Dean, the werewolf, she just ran past me.”

“Are you following her? We can’t lose her.”

“I’m trying.” There’s a break in traffic that he dashes across. “I wasn’t…”

“Did you get a good look at her?”

“Jeans, dark long sleeve shirt, tennis shoes. Blue headscarf.” Looking around, Castiel curses. “I lost her.”

“Cas?”

“She’s running from something, terrified. And I lost her somehow, she disappeared into the shadows.”

“It happens to the best of us, okay? We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Don’t bother. The park adjoins campus. She’ll be long gone by the time you can get here.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to do a sweep just in case, but…”

He can hear Dean sigh even over traffic. “Alright. Well, we have more information than we did. Be careful.”

Castiel rolls his eyes while skirting the edges of the undergrowth. “I’m going to walk the park then head back.” He hangs up and focuses on the park. It’s not that large of a park, if she stays here, she should be easy to find. It’s only if she crosses the other street and onto campus that they have a problem.

A couple minutes later, he does spot her, collapsed on the ground with two men standing over her. They don’t even bother to look around as they pull a bag over her head and wrap chains around her arms and legs. Cas is close enough to see the spell work carved into them, how some links are tarnished while others still shine. One of the men lifts the werewolf over his shoulder and carries her over to an SUV parked along the street with Michigan plates.

He rushes forward, trying to catch up, to interrupt, but the SUV peels out before he has a chance to get very far. They’re gone, headed east faster than he can move and merging into traffic.

All he’s managed is to confirm someone is kidnapping creatures instead of killing them. Texting Dean the license plate number, he checks the area for any useful information-- there isn’t any-- before trudging back to the restaurant.

This hunt is over at least, they can clear up things with Johnson and then start tracking that SUV. The sooner they can figure out why the Campbells are kidnapping monsters the better.

 

 

Crowley looks across the wooden table under the park pavilion, taking a sip from his scotch. “You’re not holding up your end of the deal.”

Samuel glares before taking a sip of his own beer. “We’ve brought you dozens. How am I not holding up my end?”

“The deal was monsters _and_ keeping the older Winchester away from my operation. Yet, Dean’s running around hunting with his angel in tow.”

“He’s not interfering either. Sam’s convinced him that he wants nothing to do with us. Doesn’t want anything to do with Sam either. Shame honestly, boy could be a decent hunter if he wasn’t so queer.”

Fucking bigot. Crowley carefully tucks his irritation away. Samuel being an idiot is nothing new. That in nearly five months, he never bothered to get caught up on hunter gossip, let alone update his thinking, isn’t surprising. “Hunting is what Dean does. He never wanted to do anything else. He was forced out by grief but it was never going to be permanent.”

“Men like that don’t get families. He’s either not serious about hunting or not serious about his ‘family.’”

The only benefit to indulging Samuel is how quickly he will be destroyed when his task is done. “You’ve had over five months. My patience is wearing thin. Either get me the Alpha I asked for or be returned to Hell. The Pit is lovely this time of year. Only one of these will involve Mary.” Taking a sip of his scotch, he watches the expressions that flick over Samuel’s face before he slams back from the table. Anger then. Crowley can work with that.

“You’ve been holding her over my head since I got back. We have a deal and I read all the terms before signing. I’m bringing you everything you ask for. If you break the deal, I still get my payment.” Samuel slings back the last of his beer and stalks away.

Crowley sighs before pouring himself another scotch. At least that irritation is dealt with. “Guthrie, what’s next on the agenda?”

Guthrie steps smoothly from the shadows near the firepit, stepping carefully around the picnic tables until he reaches the one Crowley is using as a throne. “None of today’s supplicants have appeared when summoned, sir.”

“Again?”

“Since there was word that you have suborned Sam Winchester into working for you, the number of those wishing to see you with legitimate business have actually grown, sir. They simply are not appearing when summoned.”

He can’t afford to appear out of control, not with how the war is going. But this is actually odd. “Not appearing here or not appearing at all?”

“In many cases, they appear to… be missing.” Guthrie passes him a list of demons that requested an audience but never showed. There’s not quite a dozen names on the list. Some of them don’t surprise Crowley-- they would go where the best offer was-- but he’s been courting some of the others, seriously enough that they would actually show up to give him their answer. “So far, none of the missing have been near any of the normal threats, but they _were_ last seen on Earth.”

“The angels aren’t taking an interest?”

“Only a few rogues and Castiel remain on Earth. We have been tracking them along with the Winchesters and keeping our forces out of the way.”

“Keep an eye on it, let me know if anything changes.” There are very few ways to kill a demon, and if it’s not the Winchesters or the angels, whoever dies probably deserves it. “General Jackson’s report?”

“He is holding the territory we already acquired, however, he is requesting additional forces.” Guthrie passes the latest dispatch from Jackson over. “Without those forces, we will be overwhelmed by Aeshma’s.”

“He’s one of the greatest generals history has provided to Hell. He’ll get more forces when I have them.”

“Of course, sir.”

Crowley sighs and snaps his fingers, transporting them back to his complex in Hell. “Do not disturb me for the next several hours.”

Guthrie bows and backs out of the room.

He’s so close to figuring out the key. A second spell, this one guaranteed to work since the angel grace didn’t. It’s just a matter of finding a resident of Purgatory. Given enough vampires and werewolves, it shouldn’t be a problem to find one of the fathers of their races.

Once he has an Alpha, it will be quick work to open Purgatory and wipe out anyone who threatens him taking the throne. Undisputed ruler of Hell, with the power to back it up.

Jackson just needs to keep everything intact until Crowley finds the answer.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Cas is back to the motel, Dean’s already found the registered owner of the SUV: Christian Campbell out of Lansing, Michigan. Dean makes a couple calls, gets a couple guys who are better at the computer side of things searching for the SUV.

Suddenly the way the Campbells have exploded out of the woodwork and started bogarting hunts from all over the country makes sense. They’re not being arrogant assholes for the sake of it, they’re deliberately breaking hunter etiquette so no one looks too closely at what they’re doing.

Makes sense if they’re not actually killing the monsters, but are actually monster trafficking. Now they just need to figure out why.

As soon as he’s off the phone, he starts packing up their things. He wants to be able to leave as soon as they have a direction to head.

(What he really wants to do is take Cas on a date while they wait. Not anything fancy, but something other than diner burgers or takeout.)

Instead, they meet up with Doctor Johnson for a few beers, talking about his message board group and what all they’ve figured out. Johnson doesn’t want details, or even to know more than what he’s figured out. He is just looking for confirmation that he’s not insane, that everything really is as fucked up as it seems. It’s almost a relief to have someone react with something other than resignation when told that the apocalypse has been and gone.

Dean’s contacts haven’t gotten back to him by morning, but he needs to move. They’re on the road north to Bobby’s by seven, Sam following in his truck. Even if probability means they will probably need to head towards Michigan, there’s no way he’s going to let Sam near Lisa and Ben right now. Not until Sam has his soul back.

Bobby’s outside, working on his Chevelle, when they arrive. Dean doesn’t even bother with hello, just heads inside for a cup of coffee to revive him before they do anything else.

Bobby comes in a few minutes later, pouring the last of the sludge into his own mug. “Didn’t expect to see you idjits today. You got him?”

Dean sighs, starts setting up a fresh pot of coffee. “No. She got kidnapped by some Campbell thugs before we could hunt her down.”

“Say what now?” Bobby’s eyebrows disappear under his hat.

“They’re kidnapping creatures and turning them over to someone. Sam showed up yesterday afternoon with a bunch of shit. There’s been at least a couple dozen from the records he found.”

“Jesus.”

“So we know what happened with all those hunts where they butted in and sent the guy who found it packing. I just don’t get why. Keeping a zoo is dingo ate my baby crazy, but that’s near the only reason I can think of.”

“Transporting them somewhere and then killing ‘em?”

Dean shrugs, reaching over to refill his cup. “No idea. No idea where they go either. Cas got a license plate last night, so I asked a couple contacts to see if they can track it.”

“Cas saw it happen? He’s sure?”

“While he was picking up dinner. Took her right off the street, middle of downtown.”

Bobby blinks. “That’s pretty bold.” They’re silent for a few minutes, listening to Cas and Sam chat about something outside on the porch. Cas’s small talk is terrible and Sam’s utterly disinterested. “How’s Sam doing?”

Dean shrugs. “If he had emotions, I’d say he’s freaked out by the Campbell thing. As it is, he doesn’t and he kept me up all night.”

“Oh, boohoo, princess.” Bobby rolls his eyes. “Any idea when Cas is going to be able to grab his soul?”

Dean shrugs, “Soon? At this point, he might just be waiting for some sign or another that Hell’s calmed down enough for him to get through.” He doesn’t want to think about what will happen if Cas goes before he’s at full strength, how much ‘fun’ a demon might find an angel who fell in their territory. He and Cas never discussed what it took to drag him out of Hell, how many angels died. It’s one of the things that, this far away, seems pointless to bring up. Cas has already got himself exiled on Dean’s behalf, bringing up the death of his siblings after that is cruel.

Bobby’s smirking at him. Awkwardly, Dean shuffles his feet and drinks his coffee. “I’ll ask him.”

“In the meantime, it’s time to start mapping those hunts. You’ve got your daddy’s eye for patterns, let’s see if we can do something with it.”

“Sure thing.” Dean dumps more coffee into his cup and follows Bobby into the study.

Several hours later, he’s out of both coffee and patience. Pushing himself to his feet, Dean glares at the map he’s taped to the wall while he stretches. Multi-colored pins mark waves of hunts, a single species at a time-- werewolves for a few weeks, then vampires, then wraiths-- stretching back to early June. Before that is the normal scattershot he expects, nearly random hunts.

It’s bizarre and neatly hiding the second pattern. That one has a lot worse implications. Every monster in America (and southern Canada, possibly beyond) moving towards the same area? Yeah. That bodes well. There’s a few hold-outs-- mostly highly territorial creatures and witches-- but there’s a mass migration happening.

Rubbing away the headache that’s started to form, he walks out to the yard, watching Cas and Sam help Bobby disassemble an old van.

“Hey, get cleaned up, come take a look at this.”

 

 

Dean’s phone rings as soon as he tells them that he’s found the pattern, sending him rushing back inside to the kitchen. Castiel follows more sedately, stopping to wash up at the garage sink.

Walking back into the house, Dean’s got his computer pulled up on the kitchen table, checking something with his phone to his ear. “Yeah, Wade. I got it… You’re sure it’s the same car?” A longer pause while Dean clicks around. “Cool, man. Yeah. Say hi to Alice for me. Thanks.” Dean hangs up the phone, tossing it onto the table before running a hand through his hair.

“One of your contacts found something?”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Apparently not a single Campbell ever remembers that there’s a stoplight in town.”

“That sounds like it’s probably more important than figuring out what’s happening with the monster migration.”

Dean shrugs, “Or it’s related.”

“What’s related?” Sam calls from the porch.

“Monster migration patterns and whatever in the hell the Campbells are doing with their victims.”

“You boys gonna be leaving tonight?”

“No. In the morning will be soon enough.” Castiel cuts Dean off. If Dean doesn’t want to remember that he needs sleep, Cas will make sure he gets it anyway.

“You sure, Cas?” Sam asks.

“We’ve already driven six hours today, it’s late, and I don’t want to spend another twelve hours in the car.”

Bobby herds them towards the living room without waiting for a response. “Great. Go set up the couch then. I need a break from working on cars or running dispatch, so we’re going to have a movie night.” He meets Cas’s eyes, expectation to get Dean to go along with this clear. Sam will do whatever the rest of them do, he doesn’t care after all, but if Dean thinks he should be working, it’ll be impossible.

“Sam, can you take care of picking things up? We’ll be back down in a moment.” Cas drags Dean upstairs, tossing him his cell phone before shoving him back onto the bed. “Call Lisa. Relax a moment. There’s nothing we can do tonight and you’re exhausted.”

“What? I’m fine, Cas.” Dean struggles to sit upright.

“Which is why you’ve been downing coffee like air and have been fighting a tension headache for at least three hours.”

“I’ve got this.”

“Why are you worrying about this? A night’s delay won’t change anything on the Campbell end.”

Dean’s face falls, “Sam wants to get moving. Or would. Whatever. I’m slowing you two down and you should be able to head to Michigan now because that’s what the job requires. I’m slowing you both down.”

Castiel stares at Dean. “We might be more efficient, but we’d be killing the wrong things. Call your girlfriend. Talk to her. Take advantage of the privacy before it disappears again.”

Dean sighs, but pulls the phone out from under him. “You want to chat too?”

Cas checks to make sure that the door is closed behind him before leaning over to kiss him. “I’m okay. Send my thoughts.” Closing the door behind him, he heads back downstairs to where Sam and Bobby have pulled up some old western to watch. He settles in on the other end of the couch. Dean probably won’t come back down, passing out on the guest bed, but better to leave space anyway.

 

 

It’s over twelve hours, even the way Dean drives, from Sioux Falls to the tiny town in central Michigan and warehouse complex where the Campbells have holed up.

Dean and Cas spend most of the drive bickering about how they’re going to get inside the complex, ignoring Sam-- stuck in the backseat-- entirely. He thinks it would be insulting, but mostly it’s just obnoxious.

Dean stops the car just outside of any theoretical camera range on their third drive-by of the entrance. “Any bright ideas back there, Sammy?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam doesn’t bother to respond, instead climbing out of the car and marching over to the gate. Pressing the buzzer, he leans lazily next to the speaker, waiting for the inevitable questions.

Johnny’s voice crackles over the speaker, “Yeah. Who is it?”

Sam rolls his eyes. Johnny’s barely competent enough to know which end of a gun to hold, let alone anything as complicated as determining who should be allowed entrance. “It’s Sam. Samuel sent us over, something about it being time to show me everything?” He injects a slight inquisitiveness into his tone, Johnny is always more likely to respond if he heard something like a question.

“Really? Huh. Okay, yeah. Drive on through.” The chainlink gate starts to grind open as the speaker clicks off.

Dean’s staring at him from the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam waves him towards the gate before walking through himself, waiting for the gate to close before climbing back into the car.

“A little warning next time?”

Sam shrugs. “Easier to do it this way. Just drive, Dean.”

“Where am I heading?”

“No idea. Find the main building.”

“Cas, any ideas?” Dean inches along the main drive, watching carefully in the dark. There’s not many lights around and, between that and the heavy mist, it’s hard to see anything at all. Finally, Cas points off to the right, where a single story building hides between the two and three story warehouses. “Huh. I wonder what this place was before the Campbells took it over.”

Sam shrugs again as he gets out of the car. “I don’t see much in the way of signs. You can look it up later.” Sam recognizes Mark’s silhouette in the doorway, waiting for them to come in. “Dean, can you not antagonize them immediately? That’ll just make this harder.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep my mouth shut as long as they’re not dicks.”

Sam can’t be bothered to ask for more than that. Asking Cas is pointless, the Campbells have always been the aggressors there. The few who had met him over the summer-- tagging along on trips to Bobby’s-- had immediately rejected him as inhuman, not worthy of anything but scorn.

Mark’s waving them inside, out of the wet, so Sam heads that way. If Dean and Cas remain silent, if they can investigate what’s happening, they can put a lot of this away. Mark gives them the tour on their way in, pointing out the kitchen and restrooms, separate hallways for bunk rooms (“There’s always someone here. Three to five at least, more if we can manage it.”) and offices. He’s obviously stalling, trying to buy time for something.

Dean gets bored with his bullshit before Sam does. “Dude, we’ve been on the road for most of the day. Can we get to the important shit now and tour later?”

Mark glares. He’s always been a self-important twit. “You and your pet weren’t invited at all, Winchester. Don’t you have some pussy to get back to? Or is the neighbor taking care of that?”

Dean flushes, but holds his tongue for once. Cas says nothing, but his shoulders square up.

“Mark, just get it over with. You’re stalling, and not doing a very good job at it.” Mark’s turn to flush, and his is certainly anger and embarrassment. Good.

Mark stomps to the end of the hall, throwing open the office door there with a wave. “Samuel, he’s all yours.”

Samuel looks up over his desk, covered in ledgers and other paperwork, every inch the family patriarch he says he is. “Yes, thank you, Mark.”

Mark waves them into the small office, not even bothering to hide his smirk. There’s a shift in his eyes that Sam can’t read, but this visit is going even worse than he expected already. He doesn’t bother sitting down, Dean and Cas are still standing, and this isn’t going to take long.

“What can I do for you boys that required lying to poor Johnny?”

Cas cocks his head to the side, cutting off whatever Dean was going to say. “How are you here?”

“I woke up in a field in Pennsylvania. Clothed, thank the Lord, and with all my own bits and bobs.”

“I need to examine you. There’s no reason anyone would have to resurrect you if they didn’t need something. Has anyone contacted you?”

Off guard, Samuel stutters. “… No. No one’s said anything.”

Sam glances over at Dean, raising his eyebrow. Subtly nodding, Dean returns his attention to where Cas is standing over Samuel.

Cas hmms while rolling up his sleeves. “Sam, can you keep the door closed, please? Dean, hold Samuel.”

Sam leans back against the door. Examining Samuel won’t take long enough to alarm anyone, but better to prevent any interruptions before they happen. This wasn’t part of the haphazard plan they came up with in the car, but Cas seems like he’s going someplace. Who knows, maybe whatever he’s aiming after will get them to whoever wants all the monsters too.

Cas’s hand plunges into Samuel’s chest, ignoring the arc of his back and how he strains against Dean’s hold. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds before Cas is withdrawing his hand and Samuel is slouching forward, panting harshly.

Cas looks puzzled for a moment, shaking his hand clear of a few drops of light that still cling to it, before his face clears. He shakes his head slightly when Dean meets his eyes. “Open the door, Sam. He’s fine, but we should continue with our tour.”

Christian is waiting for them when they reach the hallway junction. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“We’re finishing our tour. Mark wandered off while we were talking to Samuel, so…” Sam injects as much scorn as he can get away with in his voice.

Christian rolls his eyes. “Come on then. I guess we’re showing everyone everything today.” He leads the way out the door and towards the furthest of the warehouses.

“Where’s Gwen?” She’s nowhere to be seen, and normally, he would have by now. She and Christian are joined at the hip almost as much as he and Dean are. If nothing else, she should have passed by so she could insult Dean.

Christian swallows harshly. “She’s uh… she’s working in the building up ahead.”

All four of them lapse into silence, hunching into their jackets against the cold.

The warehouse is sectioned into a main corridor with branches lined with cells. The first floor isn’t too crowded, only six cells with heavy steel doors barred shut. The second and third floors are filled with tiny cells, barely big enough for a single person, and nearly all of them are filled.

Christian shows them off with pride. Dean looks like he might be sick when the viewport for one is flipped open to reveal a kid, Ben’s age, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He’s still wearing his soccer t-shirt, but it doesn’t cover the bruising or the burns that look like they were caused by silver. A vampire in the next cell. And again. And again. Every single cell holds beaten and half-starved creatures. None of them look capable of hurting anyone anymore, let alone any reason to keep them captive. The worst off only stare at the wall, muttering to themselves.

Even missing his soul and emotionless, Sam is appalled at what they’ve found. It’s senseless and against everything that makes them hunters.

Sam can see the exact moment Dean decides enough is enough and snaps. He’s all for it. Stepping to the side, he doesn’t even bother to give Christian a heads up before Dean has him pushed against the wall, a gun to his head. “You fucking fucker. This is _revolting_.”

“They’re just monsters.”

Dean stills, looking at Christian. “If you can look at a ten year old kid and only see a monster, you’re more of one than he will ever be.” He briefly closes his eyes before slamming Christian’s head into the cement wall and following it up with the butt of his pistol. Dean steps back to let him crumple to the ground.

Sam reaches down, drags Christian out of the main path. “Let’s get this done and get out of here. Spread out, shout if you find something.”

“Sam,” Dean calls from further down the hall. “They’re all facing south-east.”

“Towards Detroit.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Cas, you got anything?”

“The werewolf from Manhattan.” Silently, Sam joins him in front of the last door on the corridor. It makes sense that she’s in the best shape of everyone they’ve seen, but that’s not saying much. It’s pretty obvious that she’s been roughed up even beyond the chains she’s still wearing.

“Is she alright?”

“No. I can heal her wounds, but not without entering the cell.”

“Yeah, let’s not do that.”

“My grace--”

“Will protect you, but not your vessel. I like this one, let’s not risk it.”

They tromp back downstairs and spread out between the bigger rooms. Christian had hurried them through this floor, skipping some cells altogether in his rush. Now, knowing what’s behind the other doors, they take their time.

Three of the rooms are empty, the ones Christian had shown them earlier. One cell looks like it’s primarily used for processing incoming monsters and the other two…

Gwen’s in one, flinching away from the slam of the viewport before straining towards them. It takes a moment for Sam to realize what he’s seeing and he gets it only a fraction of a second before Dean does.

She’s been turned.

He doesn’t slam the viewport closed in time.

“Sam?”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know. Vampire hunt went bad a couple weeks back. I feel like shit, but for the first time, the old man is seeing _me_ , not his daughter. You know who we’ve got next door? The fucking Alpha vamp. Because of _me_.”

“Samuel said he had a cure for this sort of thing.”

She huffs a broken laugh. “Not for me. Christian got a bit excited, killed the one who turned me before they realized what happened. But they’re working on it.”

Dean cuts in, “They’re just leaving you here? Turned? Jesus.”

Gwen shrugs. “Gotta do my part for the family. At least I’m here, not off in suburbia living a semi-retired life.”

Dean takes a long breath, probably trying to keep his temper. “Yeah, yeah. I suck because I decided to follow my brother’s last wish. Really need to get some new material.” He slams the gate shut and drags Sam to the next cell over.

Cas checks the viewport on the next cell before opening the door. The Campbells have strapped him down, stuck nails into his hands and feet, hooked him up to a car battery, but he doesn’t look worried at all. He’s too busy laughing.

 

 

This whole compound has Dean on edge. Walking into a room with a laughing vampire is _not_ his idea of a good time. But it’s what they need to do. They have to get to the bottom of this before bugging out and never coming back.

He should have known that their entire family is nuts. It’s probably genetic, what with how Dad’s dad just took off and Mom’s dad apparently thinks that a fucking electric chair will hold a vampire. Then there’s Dad’s bullshit-- dragging them all over the country in his obsession with finding the thing that killed Mom. God knows what would have happened with Mom if she’d lived. How did he and Sam end up the reasonable ones? Dean sneaks a glance over at Sam. Or maybe he’s the only one who exists in reality right now.

Dean keeps Sam and Cas well back while he inspects the apparatus as best he can. In the end, there’s nothing to do but approach the throne the Campbells created with their heavy wooden chair on a dais in the center of the room. Even strapped down with leather restraints and with dead man’s blood running through him, the Alpha doesn’t look bothered, chuckling at their caution.

He’s still inspecting the set up when the vampire speaks. “The brothers Winchester and their pet angel. How can I help you?”

“We’ve got some questions for you, since you’re here.” Dean deliberately looks around the room. “Doesn’t look like you’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.”

“I wouldn’t be quite so sure of that.”

“I would.” Sam takes another few steps forward, close enough to flick one of the blood bags. “There’s enough of this running through you to keep you from calling for help.”

“There’s no need to reach very far, Sam.” He looks up, significantly, towards the open door and the ceiling above them.

“Hey, bloodbag. We’ve got questions.”

“Respect, Dean. Respect. When you were huddling in caves, wary of the dark, we were there, preying on those who wandered. It would do you good to remember that, before you think to hurt me.” He pauses, inhaling deeply and smiling. “However, I’m willing to tell you anything you need to know.”

“Why?” Cas has remained at the back of the room, watching something. Dean has no idea what.

“Because soon I’ll be free, my children and cousins with me. Ankle deep in your blood, feeding freely, sucking marrow from your bones.”

“You really are the first.” Dean says flatly.

“I truly am. There’s not many left. Not since my sister was killed.”

“Who made you? If you’re the first…” Sam trails off.

“We all have our mothers. Even me. And oh, how she wants to see her grandchildren.”

Cas stiffens in the corner of Dean’s eye. “Dean. Sam. We need to go.”

It’s been a long time since Dean heard that level of urgency in Cas’s voice. He herds Sam ahead of him, listening to the Alpha laugh behind them, even as they slam the door shut and relock it.

Cas leads the way, bypassing the main building and going directly to the Impala. They’re out of the compound and heading south on the highway as fast as Dean can get them moving. Cas’s alarm is infectious, even if he hasn’t explained what’s wrong yet.

They’re twenty minutes south, the Impala flying along the deserted two lane highway before Cas leans forward and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You can slow down, we should be clear once we get onto the interstate.”

“What’s going on?” Sam looks like he’s taking a summer drive, not freaking out about armies of monsters.

Cas audibly swallows, meeting Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “It’s Eve. That’s the only thing that makes sense. She’s out of Purgatory and she’s calling all her creatures to her.”

“Eve as in Adam’s wife, Eve?”

Cas makes a face. “Eve as in the mother of all creatures who stalk the night. Who named all. Who was formed with the ability to create, the first.”

“Right.” Dean sighs. “Is this going to kill us immediately?”

“Us? No. But if she’s calling all her children…”

“The entire Campbell compound will die as soon as one of the captives gets free.” Sam stares out into the darkness. “If she’s as protective as the Alpha was implying.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer group of people.”

“I don’t think they were all involved, Dean. Arlene and some of the other cousins don’t hunt enough.”

“I’m not turning around. They made their bed.” Yeah, they’re probably condemning everyone there to a bloody end, but some things can’t be kept in cages. There is no other way for this to end, they had to know that.

Sam grunts, but leans back in the seat, silent.

Cas keeps leaning forward, a hand on Dean’s shoulder for nearly an hour, until Dean pulls off for gas outside of Kalamazoo. Sam goes inside to pay for the gas and get Dean a cup of coffee.

“Dean, we need to go to Bobby’s. It’s time.”

“I figured.” Dean reaches over, grabs Cas’s hand for a moment. “You powered up enough to do it?”

“Souls are... nuclear reactors and Samuel’s was intact somehow. If you’re careful, you can harness one for power.”

“If you’re not careful?”

“I could have blown us all up.”

“Holy crap, Cas. Warn a guy next time.” He squeezes Cas’s hand before letting go. “Well, let’s get back to Bobby’s then, before Eve can start her monster march or whatever she’s doing.” He sighs. “We’re going to need all hands on deck. Might as well make sure Sam is one.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean drives through the night, only letting Sam take a shift when he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Twenty-six hour turn around. It’s been a long time since he was pulling this shit on a regular basis.

He knows Bobby and Cas found a backup plan to get Sam’s soul back, summoning and making a deal with Death, but he really hopes it doesn’t come to that. Because he’s faced down Lucifer, alone, and not been as scared as he was sitting across from Death in that Chicago pizza joint.

If that has a chance of becoming the main plan, he’s going to the store. Anthropomorphic personifications get all the junk food they want, or at least the marginally helpful ones do. Maybe fried pickles or tamales. Dean’s not above bribery.

At worst, he’ll share a meal with Death again. At best, they’ll have celebration food when Sam has his soul back. For once in their lives, they’ll have a Halloween that doesn’t utterly blow.

Dean doesn’t even bother to pull the car around when they reach the house, parking only long enough to create something like a grocery list and drop his bag off before he heads back out.

He needs to call Lisa, fill her in. Fuck, it’s not even been a week since they saw her and now Cas is going to go be all heroic and shit, and he’s on the verge of panic.

The phone vibrates in his hand before he even hits the call button, Lisa’s number popping up on screen. “Yeah?”

“Hey, babe. Is this a good time, wanted to check up on two of my boys.”

“Wha--” He rubs his hand across his face. “Yeah. Sorry, long couple of days. It’s just me though.”

“Where’s Cas? You said you were going to be working together?”

“We are. He’s helping Bobby out while I pick up some things at the store.” He looks down at the list scribbled on his arm. “Or maybe a lot of things. I don’t…” he trails off.

“Dean?”

“There’s a lot going on. Can we call you this afternoon?”

“Sid’s taking Ben trick or treating while Nikki and I get dinner, but yeah. Of course.” She pauses for a moment. “How bad is it?”

Dean snorts, “Nobody’s dead yet.”

“My standards, not yours.”

“It’s either bad or completely fine and I’m being paranoid.” He sighs. “Do me a favor, just to make me feel better. Pack an emergency bag for you and Ben, keep it in the car with a full tank of gas. You’re closer than I like to everything that’s going on. But I can’t… I won’t make you guys pick up sticks and leave.” There’s a long pause that has him collapsing forward against the steering wheel, narrowly missing the horn. He keeps the phone to his ear with one hand, but the other wraps around Baby’s steering column, like she’s going to help him get through this.

“Dean.” It’s flat and taut and scared and everything he never wanted to hear in Lisa’s voice. He’s imagined this coming for months, since he showed up at her door. “Dean Winchester, if you do not tell your brain to shut the fuck up and _actually listen to me_ , I will drive out there myself. And I’ve been looking forward to this date all week, so don’t you dare.”

“Lis?”

“If you think we need to leave, we’ll leave. You’re not forcing me to do anything. Wanting us to be prepared or safe is not the same as dragging us around like your dad did.”

“I…”

“I’ll toss bags into the car as soon as I get home. I just got gas this morning. If we need to run, just text or call me.”

“Poughkeepsie. If I say it or text it or anything. Cas or Sam too. Regardless of context. Just drop everything and run. I’ll find you as soon as I can.”

“Of course you have a safe word for that, but not in bed.” But he can hear the teasing in her voice again. “Go do your shopping. And tell Cas to call me later.”

Dean sits in the car for a while longer, holding onto the steering wheel, pushing back his panic. It’s not like Cas hasn’t been to Hell before, hasn’t rescued him, Sam, and who knows how many other people. He’s got this, and they have a backup plan if he doesn’t.

The knowledge doesn’t do jack.

It takes longer to calm down enough to walk into the store than the actual shopping, even with the last minute Halloween shoppers running around. Dean is pretty much doing the same thing after all, although his party is going to be a lot different than a frat house’s.

He picks up a tub of candy anyway. They shouldn’t get any trick or treaters, but it’s been known to happen. And he could use a mood boost.

Sam’s sitting in the kitchen, dealing with the phone lines when Dean gets back to the house. Twisting around in his chair, Sam watches Dean drop the grocery bags onto the counter. “You want any help?”

Dean shrugs, but points towards one of the bags. “Pork loin stays out. Everything else can get tossed in the fridge.”

They work in silence, Dean occasionally setting aside ingredients while putting the rest of the bag away. He should say something, he wants to say something, but all the words are stuck in his throat, choking everything else out.

In the end, he says nothing. Without his soul, Sam won’t care anyway, will just think it’s an unpleasant duty to be endured.

 

 

Staring at five months worth of accumulated notes, Castiel only sees two options: either he goes and gets Sam’s soul himself, with all the accompanying dangers and the chance that he won’t be anymore successful now than he was in May; or he summons Death and sees what payment will be required for him to retrieve Sam’s soul, which might actually be a worse choice. Which means there’s really only one.

He barely looks at Bobby before pushing away from the desk where they’ve settled and walking out the door. He needs to get away from this, away from Sam’s apathy and Bobby’s worry.

It doesn’t take long to reach the clearing where they summoned Crowley, still clear of debris and the devil’s trap painted on the bare dirt. He stares at it for a while, or maybe a long while. The time on his phone when it buzzes in his pocket is later than he thinks it should read.

_> > Not sure what’s going on, but take care of our boy._

Castiel swallows, looking at the screen. Another text comes in before he can come up with a response.

_> > Yourself too. Keep each other from doing anything stupid._

He reads Lisa’s texts over and over again, thumb tapping the screen so it doesn’t go dark.

<< _I’m afraid_. Another long pause, long enough that she’ll notice if she’s watching her phone for a response. He erases it and starts over. _Dean will be safe, always._

He slips the phone back into his pocket and looks back towards the house. He needs to start preparing to get Sam’s soul back. He’s fully powered now, checking Samuel’s soul had at least done that much.

Why is he getting so worked up about this? There’s no reason for it at all, only revulsion for having to return to Hell for a third time. Castiel snorts. Raphael and all the rest of Heaven are right-- he should be an outcast. Most angels never see Hell at all, the few who do are forbidden from setting wing there ever again. None return again and again, permanently blackening their grace and lopping chunks off to be used as payment.

The house reeks of chilies and roasting meat. Dean’s nowhere to be found, but Sam points upstairs while walking someone through how to tell the which trickster they’re dealing with. He’s been on the phone since they arrived; despite everything that’s happening Halloween is still a busy day.

Dean is hiding in the spare room he’s claimed as his own, curled up on the bed. There’s still traces of Sam and Dean as children here, although they’ve been mostly overwritten by other inhabitants. Dean’s reading one of the few bits that remain-- a worn and beaten copy of Huckleberry Finn-- when Cas lets himself into the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Dean doesn’t look up, keeping his eye on the pages. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” He settles onto the bed, using Dean as a backrest. Dean curls around him further, dropping the book in favor of dragging the pillow forward. “Lisa texted. She’s worried.”

“Yeah. My fault. Freaked out on the phone with her earlier.” Dean sighs. “Don’t need you to babysit me.”

“I’m not. Just wanted some quiet time with you before…” Cas trails off.

“Before you go off the high dive again. Yeah.” Dean picks up a pen from the table, fidgets with it. “It just ain’t right that you’re taking this on. It’s my job to take care of Sammy, not yours.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Lis spent all summer trying to convince me that letting Sam go was the right choice. Look where that got us.”

“It got you months to heal. She was right, it’s not your job. It never should have been.” Castiel shifts so he can lay one hand on top of Dean’s, stopping the restless motion. He doesn’t say what Dean won’t hear: It was John’s job to take care of Sam, and Bobby’s, and every other adult who looked at two boys and decided that the older one had it under control. It was his job, to pay attention and intervene when humans didn’t. But it’s too late now. “I have to do this.”

“I know.” They’re quiet for a moment, side by side. “Just… come back. Lis won’t put up with me losing another family member.”

“Of course, Dean.”

They sit in silence for a long time, until an alarm goes off on Dean’s phone, alerting him that something needs done in the kitchen. Castiel follows him down to help cook or whatever needs to happen.

He’s procrastinating, really. Holding off on actually going until he can’t come up with an excuse for why he hasn’t gone. There are still things that he can do to be productive while avoiding it. Dean shreds the roasted pork loin before setting it back to simmering. Sam and Bobby answer the phones. Castiel restocks the safe room in the basement, gathers everything they’ll need to summon Death and settles it, along with a fresh translation of the spell, next to Bobby’s desk.

Just in case he fails.

Eventually, he runs out of legitimate ways to delay. Dean stands at the counter, rolling tamales. Kissing Dean's cheek, he slides his hand up to the fading handprint. Softly he squeezes Dean's shoulder before slipping out of the kitchen and through the door.

Even with wings ruined by exile, slipping between dimensions remains simple. Hell Gates make things easier yet, but he can use the location of a recent summoning as well. The easier he can make this, the better.

He takes a deep breath before transferring himself to Hell and the Cage.

There are no guards. No demons on watch, waiting for Lucifer or Michael to break free again. The entire area has been burned clean with hellfire. Looking out across Hell, the entire place has been flattened. There’s nothing gentle about the hills towards the horizon, but they’re the only height he sees. It’s not silent, it never is, but the screaming is wordless and easily ignored. Nothing that will draw attention to him.

If there was more time, it would be worth investigating the state of Hell and the war, but his priority is Sam. He can already feel his grace wearing away, there’s no time for anything else but his mission.

The Cage itself is shaking and shuddering, still holding firm against Lucifer’s endless temper tantrum. It’s grown too, towering over Castiel. Michael and Lucifer have forced it to expand from the tiny cell barely big enough to hold them both.

Sighing, he walks around to where the door should be. Drawing forth his grace, he begins the slow process of convincing the Cage of his intentions, leaving behind drips and drabs in an effort to draw its attention towards him.

 

 

Samuel has finally delivered the last ingredient he needs. Crowley looks at the vial of blood Guthrie just handed him, and, for the first time in months, relaxes a bit. The final ingredient and the next to last step, and he can take the time for the last step today.

He is almost giddy when he tells Guthrie he is not to be disturbed and to send someone to fetch General Jackson. Gathering the necessary components, he teleports to the weak spot between dimensions. He’s deep in Aeshma’s territory, but the internal troubles he’s been carefully encouraging should keep her distracted.

Languages that have been dead for nearly the length of the human race spill off his tongue, blood painted and spilled, and a door to Purgatory grinds open. No exploding grace, no attacks distracting him at the last minute, no Hell shaking quakes.

It’s nearly subdued by Hell standards: the door opens and the souls pour into Crowley and his prepared jars, eager to escape, pushing forward. No muss, no fuss.

The power is nearly blinding, more than he could ever hope to hold as a human. He can do anything, destroy Aeshma in a blink, reimagine Hell in his own image.

Crowley is the most powerful free being in Hell. His ambitions will reign supreme.

He consolidates his own power first, delivering one of the soul jars to Jackson, enough to wipe out any resistance and binding him to Crowley’s service. Then he renders the entire war obsolete. It’s barely a step to reach Aeshma, sitting on her throne in the Pit.

“Surrender.”

“I will not.”

He laughs, booming across the dark sky.

“Borrowed power is no power at all.” Aeshma summons her mace and swings for his head.

Crowley ducks, laughing still, before snapping his fingers. He freezes the entire area, forcing everything into complete stillness. “It’s my power now.” Quickly, before she can re-gather her strength and force him away, he pushes her from the throne and to her knees.

He pauses long enough to satisfy the laws of conquest, watching the eyes of her court widen in panic. Crowley doesn’t bother summoning a weapon before crushing her into the paving stones. It’s messy and he gets viscera on his suit, but it doesn’t matter. He’s satisfied the laws and has dominion over the Pit and all the rest.

Another snap and the throne room and court are destroyed as well. It’s the work of a moment to summon one of the demons he’s been grooming for this eventuality.

“Your majesty.” Bela still manages to click her heels on the floor, even when it’s greasy mud and bone. “You summoned me?”

It would barely be a moment’s thought to crush her, rip the spine and arrogance from her, toss her right back into the Pit. The souls he’s consumed want that, want to destroy and _take_. He pushes it back down, keeps his face smooth. “This is mine now. Control it.”

She bows deeply and turns towards the horizon. “Of course. As Your Majesty requests.”

He drags her back to him, holding her tightly. “Bela, mind your ambitions.” He doesn’t miss the flash of arrogant wrath in her eyes, but ignores it for now. She’s bound by her granted power, too young and sheltered to be a threat. Eventually, she will be one, but not until she can amass her own store of power. Until then, he can give her something to focus on that’s not him and how he’s in her way.

She totters on her heels when he pushes her away, barely stable again before he teleports back to his own court.

Other things to do, after all. A population to subjugate, a visit with his tailor.

 

 

The phone finally stops ringing late afternoon and Sam has the time to focus on other things.

Like the dozens of tamales that Dean’s stress cooked; like Bobby glaring at the multiple coffee cups that litter his desk between half full bottles of whiskey; like Cas not being around at all.

“Dean, where’s Cas?”

“He went on a walk or something. Should be back soon, I think.” Dean looks up from the dishes he’s scrubbing, glances at the clock. “... Should have been back a while ago.” Shutting off the water, he calls into the other room. “Bobby, you seen Cas?”

“Not since he was puttering around a few hours ago.”

Sam meets Dean’s eyes, watches the curiosity turn to concern. “Dean, it’s fine. He wouldn’t go without saying goodbye.”

Dean stares at him, incredulous. “He has a history of making stupid plays when one of us is in danger. If he thought it would save us worry, he’d go in a heartbeat. Wanna try again?”

Sam pauses, thinks about it. “But why? I’m not even sure I want my soul back.”

“Sam?” Dean grinds out.

“I mean, you and Bobby seem to think it’s pretty damn important, but near as I can tell, all it does is screw things up.”

“You need your soul, man. You’ve been…” Dean waves his hand around, “all robotic and shit since you got back.”

“But it didn’t hurt. I’m a better hunter like this, I don’t have to sleep or rest or anything but hunt.” Sam looks down at the pad of notes, the work he’s been doing since they arrived this morning. “We don’t even know what condition my soul is going to be in. It’s been hanging out with Lucifer and Michael for how long? Nearly six months? Who knows what shape it’s going to be in.”

Dean shakes his head resolutely. “If Cas can get me healed up and un-demonifed, he can fix you up too.”

“What if he can’t?”

“Then we’ll deal with it.”

“That’s not a plan, Dean.” Why is he refusing to see how dangerous this is? They’re better off waiting. “That’s stupidity. Samuel has his soul, but he’s just as much a monster as the things he’s keeping captive.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter! Cas’s gone after it anyway.” Dean sucks in a breath before pushing it back out. “If insanity is on the table, it’s on the table. But it was on the table for me too and we got me past it.”

“Whatever.” Sam pushes away from the table and heads into the study. If there aren’t going to be any phone calls to keep him occupied, he’ll organize the books.

The thunderclap outside well after sunset catches them all by surprise, sending the pile of books Sam has stacked in his arms tumbling to the ground and Dean running for the door.

Awesome. Cas is back, probably with his soul, and they’re going to shove it back in him, willy-nilly, and hope for the best.

Dean is supporting Cas when they come back in. He looks like he’s gone twelve rounds in a boxing ring, bruises under his eyes and holding his arm carefully away from his body. When Dean eases his jacket off, his fore-arm appears to be lit up from the inside, swollen with roiling lights pushing at the skin. Dean doesn’t give Sam a chance to object, bundling them both to the safe room.

Within minutes, Sam is sitting on the edge of the cot with Cas standing over him. It’s the world’s grossest baptism: Cas slicing his arm open over Sam’s head, a few drops of blood before Cas recites some Latin.

It feels like that prank in grade school, when someone pretended to crack an egg on his head, but it was just fingers moving his hair around, soft enough that it actually felt like an egg. It’s gross and slimy and then…

He passes out.

 

 

Dean doesn’t panic when Sam loses consciousness and slumps over onto the cot. It’s to be expected, getting his soul back probably _hurts_. That’s why they’re down here after all, to make sure there’s no chance of anything getting in before Sam’s soul can take control.

He starts to get concerned when he can’t rouse him. But that’s fine. Sam has something like five months worth of sleep deprivation to catch up on.

That lasts for all of five minutes, until Sam starts to seize. Cas promised it would be ok. That Sam might end up with a headache, but nothing about brain damage.

Dean and Cas do the best they can: they pin Sam to the cot, keep him on his side so he can breathe. He knows all this, covered it in eighth grade health, why is he panicking now, when he has an angel on hand to help.

But one look at Cas-- wide-eyed and worried-- makes it clear that angelic healing isn’t happening. Cas looks like shit, bruised and worn out.

A fourth presence in the room, unfamiliar hands lifting Sam’s legs onto the cot, smoothing down a blanket that appears from nowhere, soothing Sam into quiescence

He’s sleeping, the immediate danger passed.

Dean looks up to meet Death’s eyes before fumbling backwards and off his precarious seat at the head of the cot. “What? Why are you here?”

“You did prepare those tamales for me, Dean. Did you think I wouldn’t accept your invitation?”

“Not without actually being summoned!” Dean pushes himself off the floor, avoiding meeting Cas’s eyes. “I figured I would just… have them around.”

“As well you should.” Death stays seated at the foot of the cot, holding Sam’s feet steady. “But this, of all nights, I appear where I wish, with or without the proper rituals.”

Dean swallows, harshly, staring.

“I wish to make a deal, I believe is the current terminology.”

“I’m listening.”

“I will, with your angel’s assistance, create a wall, keeping the damage to Sam’s soul away until it’s had a chance to heal. You will close Eve’s doorway and return the souls to Purgatory.”

“What souls are you talking about? Sam’s? Adam’s? No deal.”

“Dean, I am very busy. Do not try my patience.”

“What then?” He shoots back, “Someone cracked the door to Purgatory and let Eve through. You’re telling me that they did it again?”

“More successfully this time.”

“But you don’t know who.” Dean closes his eyes, thinking furiously. They’re going after Eve anyway, with her enormous army of monsters that will destroy everything. The souls might be a problem, but one they can deal with once they have more information.

Dean blows out a sigh and nods. “Yes. Help Sam and we’ll shut down Eve.”

“And the Purgatory souls?”

“We’ll do the best we can to release them. I won’t make any deal regarding getting them back to Purgatory. You’re the king Reaper. You do that part.”

“Very well.” There’s a flash of light. “Give me your hand, Castiel. This effort will require both of us.”

Dean watches as Cas stiffens and the last of his grace, bright and angel-white, flows from his hand to Death and then into Sam. Once it reaches Sam, it dims to nothing. They’re motionless for minutes, Dean trying to keep calm as nothing happens.

The light that that’s been outlining their hands where they touch dims and disappears. Sam sucks in a giant breath.

Whatever they did, building a wall or whatever, it worked. Death disappears in an instant, leaving Cas to collapse onto the cot as well.

“Sam, you with me?” Dean pushes Sam’s hair away from his face, ignoring the ominous creak of the cot under them.

Sam and Cas both groan in chorus. Sam bats away Dean’s hand, which counts for a win as far as Dean is concerned.

The cot collapses from under them, sending them tumbling to the floor.

“Dean?” Sam doesn’t even sound upset from his position at the bottom of the pile, only exhausted. “What just happened?”

Dean can barely keep from laughing. “Poetic justice? As long as you and Cas are whole, it’ll be okay.”

It takes a bit to sort everyone out, Dean pulling Cas and Sam to their feet, checking them over. He breathes out, some of the stress leaving with it.

He’s trying not to think too hard about how helpless Cas looks. Even when Cas had been functionally human last year, he’d still come across as being an angel, inhuman and powerful. But after shoving Sam’s soul in?

Now, he looks human and tired enough a stiff breeze could knock him over.

Dean shepherds them both upstairs, where they can shower and pass out in relative quiet, before going back to the main floor.

Bobby’s still in the same place he was when they’d headed towards the basement, reading over old notes and updating his journal. It seems like they should have been downstairs for much longer.

“Everything go ok?”

Dean shrugs. “They’re both clean and passed out. No idea what that means for Sam, but that’s nothing good for Cas.”

Bobby waves his bottle of whiskey towards Dean. “Grab a glass, come sit down.” He passes the bottle over once Dean’s seated. “They’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen? Cas is human or near enough and we can all stop worrying about it? We’ve been through that before. Have a drink and then get some sleep.”

“You too, old man.”

“That was the plan.”

Dean grunts and takes a drink.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam wakes up _starving_ , the clock next to him flashing 6:35. Pulling a flannel on over his t-shirt, he heads downstairs. No idea who’s home, but someone’s making breakfast and it smells amazing.

Sam pauses in the hallway, out of sight of the kitchen, when he hears Dean and Cas chatting with their backs to him. Edging back towards the study, he watches Dean dance around the kitchen, pushing bacon around, while Cas sits at the suspiciously clear table, a plate of pancakes in front of him. “I’m fine, Dean. My grace will rebuild.”

“You weren’t drained like this when-”

“I also had all of Heaven backing me then. And it still took time.” Cas pushes his chair away from the table and approaches the stove. “He’ll wake up, Dean.”

Sam winces and rounds the corner. “Morning.”

“Sam!” Dean and Cas jump apart. “You’re awake.”

Sam makes a beeline for the coffee pot and pours himself a cup-- refills Dean’s while he’s at it-- before slumping against the counter. “That’s about all I am. Please tell me there’s more of those pancakes?”

Dean pushes him towards the table. “On the table. And if that’s not enough, there’s some leftovers in the fridge.” He turns back around before pulling down a plate. “Bacon in a moment.”

Sam grabs the chair opposite Cas and applies himself to a plate of pancakes. Dean deposits the bacon before leaning against the counter, watching Sam eat.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” It’s really starting to unnerve him, how intently Cas and Dean are watching him.

“No.” Cas hands his plate to Dean, and comes around the table. “How do you feel, Sam?”

“Uh… mostly hungry and restless.”

“Restless how?”

“I don’t know, dude. The normal way? A jog and I should be good to go.” He peevishly looks over at Dean. “How long was I out, anyway? And what happened with my soul?”

Dean shoulders relax. “About three days.”

Cas shrugs. “Your soul wasn’t in Hell for much longer than Dean. You’ve clearly got one, and, short of touching it, there’s not a whole lot more diagnosis I can do right now.”

“It’s back? For sure?” Sam recoils, rubs at his chest in remembered pain. “Do you need to do another test?”

Cas shakes his head, picking up his cup of coffee. “Unless you want me to, no. The…” He waves his hand vaguely in Sam’s direction. “Sense of wrongness is gone. You’re as much you as you were before Stull.”

“Oh, thank god,” Sam breathes out before reapplying himself to his plate. Alternating pancakes and bacon with coffee, he clears his plate while Dean and Cas tease each other.

“Sammy, everything okay over there?”

With a start, Sam realizes that he’s been silent for a long time. “Yeah.” He gestures towards his empty plate. “Hungry. Guess I’ve not eaten for a while.”

“You remember everything?”

Sam shrugs. “Some stuff’s fuzzy. I don’t think I remember Hell at all.”

“Probably just as well.” Cas looks up over his coffee mug. “I took what I could from Dean, but it wasn’t enough. Death… blurred, instead of removing. This time I didn’t have enough grace left to take everything. You’ll get some of it back as you heal.”

“If you say so, man.” Sam briefly contemplates more pancakes before dropping his plate into the sink and refilling his coffee mug. “What’d I miss? And where’s Bobby?”

Dean runs a hand through his hair. “Not much, Bobby’s off on a hunt with Rufus in Ohio. It’s a weird one, but we didn’t know when you’d be moving.”

“Bobby and Rufus hate each other.”

“They also don’t actively hunt anymore, but apparently whatever is going on bothered Rufus enough for him to call.”

Sam stifles a yawn. “Right. So when do we leave?”

“We don’t.” Cas leans back in his chair. “If Rufus and Bobby need us, they’ll call. In the meantime, you’re still getting back on your feet and we’re on research duty for Eve.”

“But the monsters and…”

“If Eve has waited this long to unleash her army, she’ll wait another day or so.”

“She’s waiting for something, I think.” Dean adds. “No idea what, but there’s no movement.”

Sam nods slowly, his urgency fading under Dean’s certainty. They wouldn’t keep him out of things, not like this, not if it meant actively lying about hunts and who knows whatelse. “I’m gonna go…”

“Sleep s’more? Good plan.”

He takes the dismissal for what it is, retreating back upstairs.

 

Her children have returned, hundreds of them gathering around her, hunting in the surrounding cities and the lake to their back, living openly.

The cities are empty except for a few small bastions of humanity. She can be merciful and benevolent unlike her father. They will either join her or be eradicated. More join her every day, finding their way back to their primal natures.

And she _learns_. Information pours in, how the world has changed since it was created and how it hasn’t. The shape of things, the landscape. The things she wasn’t around to name, that came after her exile.

As soon as she has a place prepared, she leads a group to retrieve the captured. They breach the gate easily-- the sentry dozing, the living quarters filled with the sleeping. Shifters quickly take the offices, relaying information to the rest.

The anguish she already feels from those held captive, starved and tortured for information redoubles when they are found. She doesn’t even need to pass down the order: the humans are pried from their beds and dragged into the yard, treated like the kine they are. The captives fall upon them hungrily.

There are only two who refuse: her first born vampire son and the youngest vampire captured. The girl has been turned, but refuses to eat, loudly proclaiming her loyalty to her human family.

She looks at the girl-- Gwen, a part of her whispers, and everything Gwen knows, she knows-- standing defiant in the doorway. “I will not force you, child. But you are mine, and always will be.”

“No, I can’t. They’ll find way to cure me.”

Eve’s eyebrow comes up, “If they meant to do so, they would have.” She turns on her heel and leaves the building. Let her son deal with his rebellious offspring. This place will be razed in the meantime.

The Campbells will serve as a warning to the others.

 

 

Crowley waves the room clear, finally getting some space to breathe. A moment to actually enjoy being king. All of Hell is his to command. And if there are any rebellions, well, he’s still holding the Purgatory souls. He is more powerful than anyone else.

(The souls are pushy bastards, but that’s to be expected.)

He’s sitting with a glass of whiskey when the summons comes. He nearly ignores it-- it is his right to ignore inconveniences now-- but Samuel rarely summons him.

With a sigh, Crowley responds, appearing with a snap.

Samuel stumbles back a few steps over uneven ground. Looking around, Crowley can see why: they’re surrounded by partially burned and collapsed buildings, the charred ruins still smoking. The air is acrid with burned plastic, but no sulfur, no reason for Samuel to be summoning him here. Interestingly, there’s only faint traces of bodies burning, like the buildings were mostly empty before being set on fire.

Raising his glass to his lips, he flatly asks, “What do you want, Samuel.”

“They’re all gone.” Samuel’s not even trying to hide his panic. “Everything we’ve captured for you, even the Alpha, they’re all gone.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow, “And you summoned me here because?”

Samuel flinches as a section of warehouse crashes down, taking out the floor below it. “Protection. Whatever did this, Johnny’s cameras caught it on film.”

He refrains from rolling his eyes, although it’s a near thing, and settles for gesturing towards the building with his glass. “And poor Johnny is somewhere in there, I suppose.”

“Are you going to protect us or not?”

Crowley turns in a circle, surveying the burned out husks. “Protect you from what? There’s nothing left.” Literally. Not even the demon he’d set to watch Samuel. A couple roasted meat suits, one, maybe two, dead monsters buried in the wreckage.

“From whatever did this!” The man’s breath hitches. “Angels or demons or whatever!”

He’s ready to completely dismiss Samuel until it all collides at once. A fire at the Campbell’s base; dozens of creatures missing; and nearly twenty retainers who went to Earth on assignment and never came back.

Whatever this is needs to be distracted. And Samuel will be a very good distraction. “In exchange for the recording of the attack.”

“We need that.”

“You _need_ to stay alive. You _want_ the footage. That recording is the price for my assistance in the former.” He can afford to be gracious. “Don’t look like that. I only need a copy of it.”

Samuel stutters out a nod, sticking his hand out to shake on it.

Crowley thinks about insisting on the traditional seal, but it’s not worth the effort, not when there are other things afoot. Rolling his eyes, he takes Samuel’s hand, ignoring the dominance game he’s _still_ trying to play. Insufferable prat. “By tomorrow night. Get your non-idiot grandson to take care of it. I can’t promise anything if the payment has not been received by then.” He trails off deliberately, watching Samuel’s face pale.

Samuel is almost running when he leaves. Crowley takes a quick trip back to Hell to tell Guthrie to cancel all his appointments and then, hours later, back to the Campbell compound for a look around on his own.

The site is abandoned now, Samuel and the firefighters long gone. In the dark, parts of the ruins still glow dully where they’ve been shielded from the water and chill. It still smells like melted plastic and char, but the worst of the stench has dissipated.

Gingerly, he picks his way along the roadway, looking for anything interesting before shaking his head. This was only a holding facility. Anything more interesting will be at the main house outside of Lansing. But that does mean he can call in assistance.

As soon as the souls he’s still carrying around with him stop trying to get free. Something about this place is stirring them up, causing them to react.

Crowley pulls his phone from his pocket. He dials Dean’s number from memory, hoping viciously that he pulls him from some tryst or another. If he has to work, so do they.

“Hello.”

“Sammy! What a surprise. I could have sworn I was calling your prettier half.”

Sam sighs, “Crowley. Dean’s busy. What do you want?”

Among other things, to know why Sam isn’t playing happy families with Samuel, but that can wait. “So your grandfather hasn’t called you?” He pushes amusement he doesn’t really feel into his voice. “Well, let me be the first to offer my condolences then.”

Sam’s more hesitant now. “Condolences for what?” There’s some noise on the other end of the line, and the sound cuts out for a brief moment, then a fumbled phone. “Shit.”

“It appears something descended on the secondary Campbell compound and destroyed it.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Sam snaps. “What do you want? You’re the one who can bring back the dead.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Did a little birdy give you back your soul, Sam? Congratulations on fully rejoining the living.” He pauses, just long enough to be pointed. “I just thought you might want to do your thing, track down the thing that killed your family.” Emphatically turning his phone off, he surveys the buildings a final time.

They’ll be here.

Crowley turns his back on the ruins before snapping away.

 

 

Dean groans when Sam pounds on the door. He just wanted to get some time to relax and he can’t work on the cars in the rain.

“Dean, put some pants on. Crowley called.” Sam jiggles the doorknob.

“Hold your fucking horses. Jesus.” He dogears his page before tossing it back on the shelf. “And I have pants on, asshole.”

Sam pushes the door open so he can loom in the doorway. “Why the fuck was Crowley calling you, Dean?”

Dean pulls his flannel off of the bedpost while blinking up at him. “Hell if I know. What’d he want, and why were you answering my phone anyway?”

“You left your phone downstairs. It wasn’t Lisa calling, so…”

“Yeah, she and Nikki have a thing tonight.” Dean waves his hand, distracted. “Whatever. Crowley?”

“And Samuel. That compound burned to the ground early this morning.”

“Someone come looking for their missing monster friends and threw a temper tantrum?”

Sam shrugs, leading the way downstairs. “That’d be my guess. Weird Crowley would call us though.”

“Unless…” Dean trails off as he thinks about it. “Unless Crowley had a few demons there, keeping an eye on the Campbells. I mean, however Samuel got brought back, Crowley had to be curious.”

“We still don’t know _why_ they were doing it at all. Why piss off Eve that badly?” Sam thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “We need more information.”

Dean sighs before unearthing his laptop from under the couch and clearing Bobby’s research from the desk. So much for a relaxing evening. “Right. Do you want Samuel’s end or Crowley’s?”

Sam looks about as enthused as Dean feels, which is something. “I’ll take Samuel’s, since it will probably involve actually talking to him. And they all really dislike you, for some reason.”

“Samuel? I’m going to get my queer cooties all over the good cousins.” He pauses, thinking. “Or because of Cas. He’s a fucking bigot. The rest of them? Who the fuck knows.”

Sam looks over from where he’s making coffee at the counter. “Wait, you and Cas?”

Dean looks up, confused. “Yeah, dude. For a couple weeks now.”

“Shit, man. I didn’t realize.” Flipping the coffee pot on, Sam turns to face Dean. “What about Lisa?”

Dean smirks, feels his heart lighten just a bit. “Got ‘em both. Polyamory, who knew.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Over the past couple of years, they’ve made an effort to scan and digitize Bobby’s lore collection. While Dean would normally prefer to use the books for this-- reading faded ink on a computer screen sucks-- right now, they need to know what books to even pick up first.

(The only things scanned in are the books they’ve used, which means things aren’t much faster than pulling out the books themselves. Maybe Ben wants to help with it. The kid’s old enough to want to go out with his friends and for an allowance, but the chores he’s old enough to do around the house are pretty weather dependent. They can come up with a reasonable amount of money to hand over in exchange for scanning in old books.)

Cas comes in after a while, soaking wet, and gets sent directly upstairs to dry off. He comes back down in a pair of plaid pajama pants and one of Dean’s white t-shirts, his hair still dripping. Dean feels his mouth go dry as soon as he looks up. Hot damn.

Catching Dean’s eye and smirking, Cas grabs his own cup of coffee and settles on the couch with Dean’s laptop. “What am I looking for?”

“Dealer’s choice: why the Campbell’s Gitmo burned or why Crowley would care.”

Cas stills, “Crowley?”

Pushing away from the kitchen table, Sam hovers in the doorway. “Yeah. Called Dean to… I don’t know, gloat or something. Then Samuel texted about it, asking me to pull some footage from the attack.”

“We need a copy.”

“Yeah, sure, Cas. I’m downloading it now. Give me a bit to fuck with it and we should be able to watch it.” Sam gives Dean a weird look before sitting back down at the table.

“Wanna fill in the rest of us, Cas? Because I’m missing something here.” Dean moves to sit next to him on the couch.

Cas drops all pretense of flirting. “When I went to Hell to get Sam, I had no idea where the Cage was, or even if I would be able to get through the fighting once I found it.”

“You made a deal.” Dean wrinkles his nose.

Cas carries on. “A measure of my grace.” Dean sucks in a breath. “Crowley led me to the Cage.”

“But you don’t know what he wanted your grace for.” Sam says quietly from the doorway, laptop held in one hand. “And it might be related to Eve suddenly being around, if Crowley was trying something.”

“He was doing something. He didn’t have a choice, not if he wanted to survive. Hell broke into civil war as soon as the Cage door slammed shut on Lucifer and Michael.”

Dean moves the notes and books between them to the floor, gesturing for Sam to go ahead and set his computer down. “Crowley said something along those lines when we-” He breaks off, glancing over at Sam.

“When you did what?”

Dean rushes through it. “When we summoned Crowley to force him to release Bobby’s soul.”

“By yourselves?” Sam yelps.

Dean shrugs, “It’s not like there was anyone else to call. The fewer people who knew the better, and you were off-”

“Being a jackass.” Sam squats down. “You can say it. Crowley’s the fucking King of the Crossroads. What if he’d tried to make another deal or something?”

“He didn’t. We managed to threaten him into handing it over in fairly short order.”

Sam shakes his head. “So we’re thinking that Crowley may have used Cas’s grace to open Purgatory and pull out Eve in order to win the civil war?”

“Opening Purgatory, possibly. Eve? No.”

“Why not Eve?”

“She cannot be controlled. That’s why she was exiled. Not content with naming, she _created_. It’s humanity’s birthright through her. Creation and Free Will, once birthed, cannot be destroyed.”

Shifting on the couch, Dean reaches over to place a hand on Cas’s ankle. Getting agitated isn’t going to help anything. “Sounds like my kind of girl.” For once, the joke lands right: Cas snorts and Sam rolls his eyes.

Cas wiggles his toes against Dean’s thigh. “Sure. If you’re also into the mother of all. And I do mean _all_ , Dean. My father created the animals and humans, then stopped. Eve created everything after.”

Dean pretends to think about it for a moment, doing his best to hide the instinctual revulsion before giving up. “Yeah, maybe not. My job security involves killing her creations and even I know that's not healthy.”

Sam rolls his eyes again before leaning forward so he can reach the keyboard on his computer. “Anyway, this is the footage that Samuel wanted. The stuff before this is pretty typical: a few cars at the front gate, some people walking between buildings. Then, at about two this morning--” Sam presses play.

It starts out like what Dean was expecting. No movement except what might be trees moving in the wind, the security light at the front gate burning steadily. Then, in a fraction of a second, about fifteen people are standing outside the main building. Dean watches in horror as the slow sweep of the camera reveals almost all of them to be shifters of some kind, eyes glinting in the camera.

Half the group peels off into the offices, breaking down the doors without hesitation and then disappearing into the depths of the building. The other half heads towards the prison building.

The camera changes, following that group.

“Interior cameras?” Dean quietly asks, hitting pause.

“In a bit.”

Dean nods and presses play again.

It’s exactly what he’d been afraid of when they’d visited last week. With insufficient guards, the monsters walk directly into the building.

Another camera change, interior this time. A skinwalker in dog form stays near the entrance next to a young woman in white. The video breaks and fuzzes every time it sweeps over them. Within minutes, the other monsters are herding the captives out the door and into the main part of the compound.

Even with grainy footage that’s constantly fuzzing, Dean recognizes the last two: the Alpha vampire and Gwen Campbell. There’s no way to read their lips, but when the Alpha’s hand reaches out and Gwen falls to the ground, he supposes it’s clear enough.

The camera switches again, back outside, to watch the dozens of former captives descend on the Campbells that had been in the living quarters.

Dean doesn’t even flinch, watching the humans get divvied up before being killed. It’s really the only ending possible, and he’d rather that the Campbells die than some civilian up the road.

Sam leans forward and hits stop before the fire starts.

“Yikes.” Dean’s quieter than he means to be, but it seems right.

Sam sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I know it was inevitable in that sort of situation, but watching it like that--”

“Yeah.” Dean pauses a moment, trying to digest it all. “Cas, what do you think?”

Cas reaches over and pulls the computer into his lap, moving the video back to the weird young woman, letting it play again then going back through frame by frame. In an unseasonable sundress, she stands out, even in grainy security camera footage. He looks at her for a moment before nodding, turning the screen back to face Sam. “That’s Eve. Come to supervise the break herself.”

“And we still don’t know why Crowley is interested.”

“Or even if he’s actually interested and not just manipulating us for fun and profit.” Sam runs his hands through his hair before reaching for the coffee cup on the corner of the desk. Dean snickers at his grimace-- his coffee had gone cold more than an hour ago-- but takes it back when Sam hands it over.

Dean looks at the clock and then the computer screen again. “It’s late. Head to Michigan in the morning?”

“Samuel doesn’t trust email, so we’re going to have to meet up with him.”

“Cas?” Dean’s been trying very hard to ignore how twitchy Cas has been-- constantly bouncing his knee-- since they identified Eve was even a possibility, but it’s getting harder. But now, Cas is suddenly still.

“I’m going to--”

Dean cuts him off. “Nope. You’re coming up to bed. If you don’t want to sleep, that’s fine. But bed.”

Cas nods, the jitter starting again.

 

 

Lisa rolls over and looks at the clock and gives up on sleep. She pulls on her robe before checking on Ben and wandering downstairs.

Pouring a glass of juice, she leans against the counter, looking out the back windows while she tries to figure out what’s bothering her. Ben’s safe upstairs; Dean’s off doing whatever he’s doing, but he’d sounded better this afternoon when they talked; Nikki’d been off at dinner, but they’ve been together for a long time, long enough that being weird doesn’t mean anything but…

Something’s off and she’s not going to be able to sleep until she figures it out.

She rinses out her glass before re-doing her evening lock-up. Maybe double checking all the locks will relax her brain enough to get some sleep.

Deliberately, she starts at the front door, unlocking and relocking the doors and windows, checking the supernatural defenses like Dean taught her. The door from the garage is locked, as are the front and back doors. It’s almost a relief to find the unlatched window in the laundry room. She flips the latch, looking out the glass into the neighbors’ backyards.

The only reason she sees it is because Sid’s grossly overpowered yard light gets triggered, spilling light across three backyards and dazzling her eyes.

For a moment, she’s not sure what she sees crouching in the former shadows behind the Zimmermann’s shed out back-- a naked man?-- but she blinks and it’s just a large dog. It’s not theirs, but she’s been a bit distracted lately, maybe one of the folks down the street picked up a new dog.

If she sees it again outside of a fenced yard, she’ll call animal control. Otherwise, it’s time to try bed again. It’s her week to lead sunrise yoga and she’s going to be exhausted as it is. Double checking the window, she turns away and heads back upstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

The remains of the warehouse tell them nothing they didn’t already know. No EMF, no sulfur, not even a convenient footprint. Dean had hoped they would get something new, instead he’s left with the same vague unease as always when facing a burned-out building.

Samuel is waiting for them when they get to the motel, leaning against an old truck with barely concealed impatience. Parking across the small lot, Dean rolls his eyes before heading to the office to get a room. Man can’t even wait for them to call him when they’re settled, has to be in control. Snorting, he shakes his head-- no wonder Dad never got along with the man, they’re two peas in a pod.

Coming back out, no one’s moved, still glaring at each other. Dean unlocks the door to the room and waves them all in before they say anything.

As soon as they’re inside, Dean passes Cas and Samuel a beer while Sam pulls his laptop out of his bag and sets it on the table, waving Samuel to the spare chair. “I don’t know why it had to be me to get this for you. There’s plenty of cousins who could have done it.”

Samuel coughs. “They don’t know.”

Sam explodes. “You have got to be kidding me. Do you really think Arlene’s not going to notice when her husband doesn’t come home? That Johnny’s folks won’t figure out he’s missing?”

“It’s part of the job. Something you had no problem with. Sometimes people die.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “They don’t know that the entire compound is dead? That you managed to get one of the primeval forces of creation to come there personally?” He stares at Samuel incredulously, draining his beer.

“What force of creation? It was just some vampires coming to free their Alpha.”

Dean nearly chokes on his beer. “If that’s what you think, you’re in even bigger trouble than we thought. He was playing you, probably from the moment you captured him.”

“There were no signs of anything else there. I would have seen them.” Samuel makes a face when he swallows his beer.

Dean groans. “Are you really so out of touch that you think you’re going to find anything in a fire that was hot enough to bend steel? ”

“I don’t see how-”

Cas leans forward. “It’s our business because hunting things is what we do. By all accounts, it’s what you used to do. We don’t torture creatures for information, rip open veils between planes of existence.” Looming over Samuel, Cas looks like the angel he was, intimidating as hell. “The Campbells have been hunters for generations, but they have rarely been the brains. We know you’re sending the information to someone.”

Sam snorts at the table. “I’m not sure if we should be insulted or not, Cas.” Leaning forward, he presses play on the video. They watch in near silence for a couple minutes, long enough for Samuel to start visibly shaking.

Dean takes a casual drink of his beer, “So the question becomes who could give dear ol’ Granddad what he wants most and what that might be.”

Judging from Samuel’s flinch, Gwen was just killed on screen. Watching him, Dean flashes back to last week, touring that dreadful place, _He finally sees me, instead of his daughter_. Quietly, he says, “They promised you Mary.”

Sam’s head snaps around to look at him. “So it’s not Heaven. Because if they could give her back to us, they would have tried that instead of all the rigmarole to get you.”

Cas shrugs, “Maybe. Probably. Michael was…”

Dean wrinkles his nose, “A traditionalist. Yeah.”

Sam reaches around, hits pause on the computer. “Hell, then.”

Samuel’s face breaks, “I’m not supposed to outlive her. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” He takes a shuddering breath before finishing his beer. “Crowley said he would bring her back when he won the throne, I just needed to help.”

Cas closes his eyes. “And now Eve is back on Earth and angry, very specifically, with the Campbells.”

Sam looks at the flash drive and computer. “Crowley doesn’t know what tore through his own personal hunter force like a wet paper towel. That’s why he wanted to goad us into investigating.” Yanking the flash drive from the computer, he tosses it to Samuel. “Well, you got what you wanted. Good job making a deal with the devil. Those _never_ go wrong.”

Dean snorts, but doesn’t say anything as Samuel pushes back from the table.

“I thought…” Samuel trails off. “You boys never should have grown up without Mary. She would have taught you better.”

“ _She wanted out_. And even if she didn’t, better than what? At taking orders and not thinking? That doesn’t seem likely. She’s been dead for nearly thirty years, ever think that maybe she should stay that way?” Dean turns back to the fridge, pulls out another beer. “We’ve played that game and nearly ended the world because of it. I’m done. You got what you wanted. Get out of here. Enjoy getting screwed by Crowley or killed by Eve.”

Samuel hangs his head and lets himself out of the room. No one moves until they hear his truck start and leave.

As soon as Samuel’s gone, Dean blows out a sigh and relaxes back against the fridge. “Too much?”

“Nah.” Sam hip checks Dean away from the fridge, reaching in for a real beer. Dean goes willingly, moving to stand next to Cas again and wrapping his free hand around his waist. “God, that man’s a piece of work.”

“But not a demon himself. Which is something.” Dean grabs Samuel’s abandoned beer bottle. “There was enough holy water in there to get a reaction.”

“He has no idea what’s coming after him.”

Cas takes a drink of his beer. “We need to let Bobby know, put the word out. Crowley in control of Hell isn’t the worst possibility, though.”

Dean looks at him for a moment before nodding. “Crossroad demon. Right. He’ll be willing to make a deal for just about anything. Drop it until we figure out what to do about Eve?”

Sam nods, “I guess. I don’t like it, but I don’t have a better solution either.” He pauses. “Any ideas on what we’re going to do about Eve?”

Dean shrugs. “Force her back through, seal up the hole, and hope that Crowley isn’t crazy enough to open things back up?”

They all shrug before falling into bickering about who gets to shower first.

 

 

Crowley is distracted all morning, splitting his attention between retaining control of the absorbed souls and the footage Samuel had finally gotten to him. (Late, but he sent a demon to look after him anyway. A useful tool shouldn’t be abandoned, and Samuel is that, barely.)

He ignores most of what Guthrie is saying at the briefing, nodding along to show that he’s paying attention, but focusing more on restraining his new power to his will.

Hell is running smoothly, very little has changed in the day to day affairs of his kingdom. The report has the same information it did yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.

Until Guthrie lists the missing and some small part of Crowley’s mind realizes that every demon he’s sent to spy or protect the Campbells is on that list, including the bodyguard that was just sent up. Blinking, he puts up a hand to pause the morning report. “They’re missing. Not dead. You’re certain?”

For the first time in centuries, Guthrie shrugs. “There is, of course, a level of uncertainty, sire.”

“Sure. Of course. Demons are known for going missing, subtlety is Eberwin’s stock in trade. He would abandon his post within hours of being ordered there.” After spending millennia building up his reputation as a bodyguard.

Crowley sighs before taking the clipboard out of Guthrie’s hands. Seeing the entire list like this puts it into perspective. These aren’t the expected losses of war, especially since they’ve accelerated since he won. This is something else-- something deliberately going after his supporters on Earth.

The souls are becoming increasingly agitated, the more he thinks about it.

Samuel’s security footage hasn’t helped as much as he hoped it would. There’s something strange about it, certainly, but the only thing that stands out is the girl in white commanding the group. Just like there is something strange about Samuel when he handed over the footage, suddenly a broken man, no longer convinced of his own superiority. Maybe losing that many people shocked some humility into him, but for some reason Crowley doubts it. No, there’s something else, related to the footage.

“Your Majesty?”

“Shut up, Guthrie. I need to concentrate.” Snapping his fingers, he retrieves his tablet from his desk. The souls buck again, nearly throw off the reins he has around the mass. His control has been tenuous since his last trip to Earth, and something is making it even slippier.

He watches the footage again.

The third time, he sees it. The girl controls the invaders, not the escaping Alpha, not any others. Whoever she is, she controls everything, including-- he winces-- the extra souls he stole from Purgatory.

This mysterious girl with her power over the denizens of Purgatory needs to be researched further and he can’t entrust it to anyone else. If another demon discovers just how shaky his power is… A good uprising will topple him. Hell is stable, but not cowed.

Guthrie and Bela can handle the boring things while he figures out who she is.

Disappearing into his chambers, he pulls out one of the books that he’d first found while researching how to open a door to Purgatory, the one that gave him the failed ritual using an angel’s grace. He’d read it all before, but he must have missed something.

 

 

Dean finds dinner while Sam calls Bobby about his hunt-- some slug parasite thing. Nothing any of them have ever heard of, but Sam promises Bobby he’ll see if he can find something.

“Cas, you ever hear of something that can turn its victims into puppets?” Sam crosses the room to dig Dad’s journal out of Dean’s bag, praying that he doesn’t find anything he doesn’t want.

“Not in North America.” Cas thinks for a moment. “Actually, they might all be extinct. It’s not a very effective method of predation and humanity has never appreciated being controlled.”

“You don’t know?”

Cas shrugs. “It can’t surprise you that Heaven doesn’t track creatures.” Picking at a spot on his jeans, he says, “The official stance is we don’t interfere on Earth.”

“Unofficially?”

“Heaven doesn’t know or care. Those that are destined for Purgatory are Purgatory’s responsibility.”

“So… every monster, every creature, all of them, are going to Purgatory?” Sam glances over at Cas, sitting on the corner of the bed watching cartoons. “No wonder Death wanted them back where they belong. What about folks who get turned and never hurt anyone?”

Cas quirks an eyebrow. “In all your dealings with Heaven, did you ever see indication that there is room for grey?”

Sam’s saved from answering by Dean clumsily letting himself back in, hands loaded down with dinner. Because, no, Heaven doesn’t see anything but human or not; good or evil. Given their stance on the apocalypse, it’s not remotely surprising.

It just sucks.

Sam keeps researching Eve while Dean and Cas watch a made for TV movie on basic cable. He’s mostly going over stuff they’ve previously looked at, but that sometimes shakes things loose.

It works this time too. Separate mentions of the ‘Mother of All’ and ‘Companion of God’ condense into something that’s almost useable. “Hey, guys. Check this out.”

Dean mutes the movie, grabbing the books before handing one off to Cas. Quickly, he reads the marked passage before switching with Cas. “Ok, what are we looking at here.”

“Parts of the spell that brought Eve here.”

“Sam?” Cas sounds more alarmed than relieved, but Sam’s on a roll.

“We’re pretty certain that Crowley’s the one who let her through, right? Trying to get some extra power to help him win the civil war or whatever? And he used the grace he bargained off you to do it.” He gestures at the books. “This is incomplete, but it seems like he might have actually been onto something.”

“It makes sense that Eve would be the Mother of All. But who are these ‘Companion of God’ characters? Angels? Is that why he used Cas’s grace?”

Sam nods.

Cas ignores him and shakes his head. “If it is, he’s more foolish than I thought. Although,” he looks at the passages again. “It’s possible that he didn’t know. It is an old term.”

“But it checks out?” Dean smiles broadly at Sam and Cas. Sam allows himself to chuckle while Cas still looks confused. “Dude. Return of the Jedi.”

“Oh, yes. Shortly before the introduction of the teddy bears.” Cas shoots Dean a fond look. “Companion of God only refers to specific angels. If Crowley used my grace…” he trails off. “It might have shaken the door, but it wouldn’t have opened it.”

“Except we have some pretty compelling evidence that it _did_ open the door.”

Dean leans back, thinking. “We don’t. Eve’s been causing trouble for a lot longer than Crowley’s been in charge of Hell.”

“Crowley tried the door twice?” Sam sketches out a quick timeline on some scrap paper. “Once in May and then again last week, maybe?”

“Could be earlier, but not by much. Depends on how long it took for him to subdue the population.” Dean takes a drink of his beer. “I don’t get a military genius vibe from Crowley. So either he’s trying to do it all himself or he’s investing some of the power he got out of Purgatory into folks to do his fighting for him.”

“Right.” Sam looks down at the notebook in front of him. “Separate problems, I know, of having Crowley ruling Hell and Eve, but it feels like they’re interconnected.”

Cas shrugs. “They are. No sentient being is comfortable with being used to further other people’s ambitions. Souls are power, but they’re still _souls_. Not even angels abuse that.”

“But you could.”

“I could also stick my hand into Dean’s chest, restore my grace, and find Cain. The ability to do so doesn’t mean it’s less problematic. And that’s with Dean’s consent. Anything else is…” He trails off for a moment. “Not having a body doesn’t mean it’s not slavery.”

Sam opens his mouth before closing it. Oh. If souls retain remnants of their consciousness, yeah. That is gross. “So Crowley essentially is enslaving the inhabitants of Purgatory to rule Hell? I can’t see that going well.”

“Which, undoubtedly, is why Eve is so pissed off.” Cas shifts the book off his lap, pushing off the bed and out the door. He doesn’t slam it, but it echos in the small room.

Dean sighs, but doesn’t go after him. When Sam raises his eyebrows, he waves it off. “He’ll be okay.”

“What about you?”

“Does it matter?” Dean shrugs. “I think that spell is probably the solution to getting Eve back to where she came from, but we need Cas’s grace for that. And we need to be close enough to shove her through the opening, so even if he was fully powered right now, we can’t do anything with it.”

“Yeah.” He flails for a moment, looking for a subject change. “How’s Lisa doing?” That one shouldn’t get him yelled at.

“She’s great, man. Really great.”

Sam bundles his research papers and Dad’s journal into a pile to stack on the abandoned desk, listening as Dean recounts some story or another about Lisa. That Dean is actually happy doesn't really surprise him, but how transparent he is kinda does. He's always known that for all that Dean's life revolves around hunting, he still wants a home. It most of the reason he told Dean to get out last spring. It’s a good look on him, stretched out on the bed in sweats with no weapon in sight. “How does she feel about Cas? You two are looking pretty comfy anymore.”

“We’ve all been pretty busy so it’s not like we’ve had time to do much. Not seen her since her birthday a few weeks back.”

“Cicero isn’t that far away, if you want to stop in for a visit. Me and Cas can get a hotel, give you two some space. Maybe take Ben for the night?”

Dean looks at the door before pushing himself up. “Yeah. Maybe.” He pulls his boots back on before grabbing his jacket. “I’m gonna go find Cas.”

He’s out the door before Sam can respond.

 

 

Dean has never had problems discussing his sex life with Sam. They spent the first twenty-some odd years of their lives living in each others pockets. There’s never really been a way to keep it secret, merely discreet, and he never bothered. There didn’t really seem to be much point.

His few attempts at relationships though, those never get brought up. Because talking about them is a reminder of how badly he fucked them up (Cassie), or how worried he is that something is going to follow him home and ruin their lives (Lisa and Ben), or that eventually he’s going to become a burden (Cas).

He feels awkward about running out on Sam like that. But things with Cas and especially Lisa feel like they’ll shatter if he looks at them too hard. Two people willing to put up with his bullshit, at the same time? Shit like that doesn’t happen, not to guys like him.

Cas is sitting on the picnic table off to the side of the motel, surrounded by cigarette butts and ash. Perched on the table, he looks both more and less human than Dean’s ever seen him-- hunched against the cold and a fuzzy halo of light silhouetting him.

Dean brushes the worst of the ash off the seat before sitting down and nudging Cas’s knee with his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

He feels Cas’s sigh. “Eve chose exile with her children a very long time ago. She might not even know…”

“She knows.” Dean cuts him off. “Humanity hasn’t changed that much, and her kids invented murder. She knows.”

“So much has changed.”

“That hasn’t.” Dean reaches over and taps Cas’s knee. “So what’s really bothering you?”

“Companion of God is a... misleading translation, but I don’t know of a better one. The first angels, who accompanied our father while he was creating Earth, who assisted with creation, the closest he has to siblings.” Cas sighs. “Most of them are dead now, or haven’t been seen in centuries. I wasn’t one of them, I couldn’t be. Too young, not powerful enough. Yet, my grace…”

“Even if it didn’t open the door all the way, it kicked it.”

“Which shouldn’t… Locks don’t work like that! They’re binary, locked or unlocked. Getting close doesn’t partially unlock the door.”

“Is it possible that you _have_ spent enough time with God? I mean, He’s resurrected you twice that we know of.”

Cas scoffs, “What happened to you kicking his ass?”

Dean smirks up at him. “I can kick his ass after thanking him for bringing you back.”

They lapse into silence for a while, watching cars drive along the highway. Dean drags Cas back inside with him when they start shivering. Sam’s already half asleep, watching TV groggily before dramatically starting to toss and turn as they lose their flannels and shoes.

Rolling his eyes, Dean pulls Cas into bed with him, whispering fiercely, “Stay. You don’t have to sleep, but I want you nearby.” Cas squeezes his hand, settling on the other side of the bed.

In the morning, Sam lets himself out for a run before the sun is completely over the horizon which starts Cas fidgeting. Before Sam is back, Dean has given up on sleep. At least they can get breakfast before the church crowds show up.

They’re checking out of the motel when his phone vibrates with a text from Lisa:

_> > Been a few weeks since we saw you. Any chance you can get home?_

They’re at a standstill until something changes-- Hell’s stable, Sam is gonna need more time to figure out how to close that damn gate, they don’t dare go after Eve herself at the moment-- there’s no reason they can’t go spend some time with her.

_< < Was actually getting ready to ask. I can be there in a few hours. Wanna get dinner, give Ben some time with Cas and Sam?_

_> > They can hang out here at the house. Ben’s got school tomorrow._

_< < Sure, that works._

_< < What about you? Do you have the early class?_

_> > Not this week. So you can keep me out all night. ;)_

_< < :D_

By early afternoon, he has them checked into a decent hotel not too far from Lisa’s place. Dean almost feels bad about dropping Sam and Cas off at Lisa’s while he picks Ben up from school, but he’s hoping that she and Sam will take advantage of their time without him to get all the teasing out of their system.

They end up going to dinner together, before Lisa and Dean peel off to go to a coffee shop while the others go back to the house. They ignore the band playing, flirting and chatting while lingering over their coffee until closing time.

Sometime in between discussing whether or not Ben should go up a skill level in baseball, tumbling into bed, and then, after, talking about how Lisa’s mom’s doing, it occurs to Dean that this is what he wants. The only way this could be better is if Cas were with them. Maybe he’s finally earned this.

It’s nearly midnight when he and Lisa finally doze off at the hotel, curled around each other.

A few hours later, he abruptly wakes when his phone starts rattling across the night stand and Dean wonders why he ever thought he could have anything at all.

“Sam? What’s going on?”

“You and Lisa need to get back to the house.” Sam never sounds like this, on the verge of panic. “We tried, I tried but…”

Dean jumps out of bed, starting pulling on clothes. “What happened? Dammit, Sam.”

“They took Cas and Ben.” There’s a hitch in Sam’s voice. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wasn’t…”

Dean meets Lisa’s eyes as she comes fully awake. She must hear something in his voice because her face fills with panic before he can even process what Sam said.

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 

 

Her house is a wreck. That’s the only thing Lisa can process. The bay window in the kitchen is shattered, glass shards covering the table and floor, tracked out to the staircase and upstairs. Dean hasn’t allowed her upstairs yet, which seems like something she should be pissed about, but right now…

Right now, she can focus on the mundane or she can curl up in a panicked ball. Because someone broke into her home, managed to subdue two very deadly men, and take both Cas and Ben. If she falls apart now, she’ll stay that way. So she won’t. She’ll stay upright and help Dean and Sam figure out who the _fuck_ took her son and their boyfriend, and then, when their face has been thoroughly smashed in, then she can fall apart.

Lisa has the worst of the glass swept up and is making a pot of coffee when Dean and Sam come stomping down the stairs. She finishes sending an email to Nikki, the other instructors, Ben’s teacher, and school, before pouring coffee into three mugs and pushing them towards the boys when they enter the kitchen.

Dean tries to wrap her up in a hug but she pushes him away. “Don’t. Later.” He retreats to the other side of the island, taking his cup of coffee with him. Sam is still standing in the doorway from the living room, looking a lot worse for wear. “Who took my son? What the fuck, Dean.”

Grimacing, Dean sets his coffee cup on the counter next to him. “I wasn’t careful enough. I spent months trying to keep all this away from you and--” He sighs. “Whatever. I fucked up, ruined it. Eve found you, somehow.”

She takes a long drink of her coffee before she responds, pushing back the instinctual anger that will get them nowhere, no matter how much she wants to scream. For the last six months he’s done everything he can to keep his life hunting separate from them, tearing himself in two to protect them.

“It’s my fault.” Sam’s voice is far quieter than he should be able to manage. “Gwen knew and so the Alpha knew and…”

“Sam, shut up. It’s not your fault.” Dean says sharply.

“Both of you shut up.” She closes her eyes, trying to maintain her calm. “I can’t… I can’t deal with blame right now. Get my kid back.”

“Yeah, Lis. Gotcha.” Dean drains his coffee before rinsing out the cup. “Your go-bag still in your car?” When she nods, he heads upstairs. “I’ll grab some things for Ben. Sam, there’s a tarp in the garage. Get it over that window and we’ll… we’ll get out of here.”

Sam pushes her into the front seat of the Impala when they leave, taking her bag and tossing it into the trunk. She almost protests, Sam’s legs are longer, he should have it but… Dean wraps an arm around her as soon as they’re out of the driveway, pulling her close so she can burrow into his side while he drives.


	10. Chapter 10

The drive to Bobby’s takes forever. The only thing Dean can think is that he has to get Lisa safe. Then he can go after the missing.

Cas didn’t tell them much about Eve’s exile, but the story in Genesis is pretty clear: angels kicked everyone out of the Garden, then locked and guarded the gates so no one could sneak back in. Eve probably has a bit of a bone to pick with any angel she can get her hands on.

He pushes the thought away and presses harder on the accelerator.

Sam must have warned Bobby that they were coming, because the old man is waiting out in the yard for them. Dean does brief introductions before ushering Lisa to the room he and Cas have claimed. He has no idea what she needs right now.

Apparently, not that. As soon as she’s dropped her bag, Lisa marches right back downstairs, Dean awkwardly following her. He can feel all the stress that he lost on the road piling back on and the added stress of Bobby and Lisa and…

He blindly accepts the mug Sam hands him, taking a gulp of… well-whiskey’d coffee. It burns going down, jolting him out of his panic.

They can do this. It’s just another hunt. A bit more urgent, a bit more unknown, but it’s just a job.

The thought doesn’t help.

Dean leaves Sam to fill in Bobby and Lisa. He heads down to the basement so he can do something with his hands: there are always bullets to make and knives to sharpen down there. Sam will eventually come yell at him, demand that he help with the research. But right now, he can avoid thinking about it by staying down here in the basement.

It’s actually Bobby who comes down to drag him upstairs, stomping down the creaking stairs and pausing to watch Dean sharpen a machete. He’s already got a haphazard stack on the other side of him.

He waits until Dean finishes the current one before speaking up. “Hell of a woman.”

Dean smiles faintly, checking over the blade again for any flaws. “More than I deserve. Her and Cas both.” Bobby waits. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’. I never should have got her caught up in all this. Should have just…”

“Climbed into a bottle and stayed there. Until some jackass shows up, kids in tow, looking for help with an Etruscan water demon.” Bobby sighs. “Kid, you’re a better man than me _and_ your daddy. There’s a reason we didn’t tell you Sam was back, and wasn’t just because we fucked up. You got _out_ , Dean. Walked out of this life into a better one with a family and not getting your guts tore out.”

“Yeah, and what’d that get them? I drink too much, I’m still having nightmares more nights than not, and, oh yeah, got Ben fucking kidnapped.”

“And you were happy, or the closest to it I’ve ever seen a hunter get.”

“As I could be, yeah. Still wanted y’all.”

“Then suck it up, get upstairs, and start working. Eve’s out there, doing God knows what, working by her own rules.”

“Rules.” Dean blinks before sprinting up the stairs, ignoring the shouts behind him. He can do this, he can fix it and get Cas and Ben back, hostage exchange if needed, he doesn’t care, he knows how this works now.

He detours to the garage long enough to grab what he needs, rushing to avoid Sam and Bobby. The back end of the yard is the same as always, broken asphalt and abandoned cars, the devil’s trap from September mostly intact.

At least the weather’s cooperating, dry and cold. He doesn’t have to kick away any snow, or worse, try to redraw a devil’s trap on top of it. He redraws it anyway.

Dean’s just finishing when Sam rounds the the last car, takes a quick look at what he’s doing, and immediately pulls a gun on him.

Dean drops his spray paint, “Whoa, man. What the hell?”

“I don’t know, Dean. You tell me. Because it sure as fuck _looks_ like you’re summoning a demon.”

“Yeah, and how does that justify pulling a gun on me?”

Sam doesn’t put down his gun. “We already went through one apocalypse because you couldn’t live without me. I’m not gonna let you start another because you can’t live without Cas.”

“Fuck, Sam. You really think I’d sell my soul? Really?”

Sam raises an eyebrow and nods towards the circle. “You’ve done it before.” Sam points out. “What does this look like to you?”

“You were dead. I…” Dean trails off. “Fuck you. And put the damn gun down.” Deliberately, he turns his back on Sam, facing the car that functions as a table. He can’t stop from bracing for impact. Quickly, he finishes redrawing the summoning on the hood while listening intently, hoping Sam doesn’t fire.

He doesn’t. After a few seconds, Sam’s jacket rustles as he puts away his gun and walks towards Dean. “You gotta give me something, man. If you’re not selling your soul, what are you doing?”

“I’m making a deal, just not that one.” He knows he’s being sloppy in measuring out ingredients, but he doesn’t care.

“Dean!”

He ignores Sam and tosses a match in the bowl. It flares to life, sparks flying out.

“What the bloody hell is your _problem_ , Squirrel? Don’t you know I’m busy?” Crowley appears, annoyed, in the circle behind them. Sam gapes for a moment. “Moose, do shut your mouth. It’s very unattractive.”

“Cut the crap, Crowley. Your little feud with Eve. It ends now.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Eve’s been locked away since before there were demons.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Even if she was free, I would scarcely have a feud with her. We want different things after all.”

Dean doesn’t bother to hide his eyeroll. “So you didn’t attempt to open Purgatory with Cas’s grace only to fail; bring Samuel back from the dead to find another way in; and once you managed that, opened Purgatory, stealing all the souls you can handle.” Dean ticks off fingers.

Crowley shudders, but is uncharacteristically silent.

Dean watches the shudders grow into tremors and turn into jerks. Can demons have seizures? Carefully, so he can keep an eye on the twitching demon, he glances over at Sam.

“You ever hear of anything like this?”

Sam shakes his head, frowning. “No. And it didn’t start until-” he cuts off as Crowley falls to the ground.

Coughing, the demon curls up on his side, light streaming out his nose and mouth and towards some distant point. The light takes forever to stop, dragging on and on. Even once it’s done, it take several minutes for Crowley to move again.

“Bugger.” Crowley’s voice is rough when he finally pushes himself to his feet. Looking down, he grimaces at his torn and dirty suit before snapping his fingers. His clothing immediately repairs itself, as does his voice. “Thank you, gentlemen, for that.”

“What was that?” Dean interrupts.

“That, moron, was every scrap of power I’d gained from Purgatory escaping.”

“What?”

“Exactly what I said. Now that you’ve screwed _that_ up, what do you want?”

“Your feud-”

“Doesn’t exist.” Crowley snaps. “Didn’t even know Eve was out. So. What do you want?”

Dean sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Get Cas and Ben back, we’ll toss her ass back in Purgatory.”

Crowley thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “Normally, I’d love that sort of loophole-ridden proposal, but I can’t make a deal I’m unable to fulfill. And neither party can fulfill that one.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “It’s barely been six months since we shoved Lucifer back in his box. Do you really think we can’t manage Eve?”

“Not without more time than you have. It took you nearly a year of screwing the pooch to take care of Lucifer, and even that required outside assistance. Cas might survive that, the kid won’t.”

“We already discussed this with Death, he’s willing to give it a shot. Try again.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “I see no reason to continue negotiations if you’re not going to take them seriously.” He looks over to meet Dean’s eyes, not looking away.

Dean thinks furiously, looking for something that he can use. “If, hypothetically, we asked for Ben and Cas’s location and trade information and we do the dirty work once a solution is found...”

“I would find that deal to be satisfactory, hypothetically.”

Sam breaks the silence. “Great. We’ll do that then.” He slaps a hand over Dean’s mouth before he can start protesting. “Nope. My turn. Crowley, we propose the following: you provide the exact address where Eve is holding Castiel and Ben Braeden and any entities in its immediate vicinity; in exchange, once a way to exile Eve back to Purgatory, or otherwise remove her as a threat to Earth and Hell, is found, we will do so. To facilitate this, both parties will share all informational resources regarding Eve between both parties. Additional resources will be shared on a case by case basis. Agreed?”

“And you will not seek to harm me in the process of the above.”

“Agreed.”

“Then yes.” A smirk before his eyebrows jump. “Pucker up, lover boy.”

Sam rolls his eyes but steps into the devil’s trap. “Let’s just get this done.” The kiss is quick, Crowley showing no interest in lingering. Sam jerks back after it’s done, wrinkling his nose.

Dean pulls out his pocket knife as soon as Sam’s clear of the trap. “No tricks, Crowley,” he warns before scratching through the outer line of the trap to break it.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Crowley steps out of the circle and then disappears.

Sam flips around as soon as he’s gone. “What the _fuck_ , Dean? Making a deal with Crowley? What were you going to do if I hadn’t shown up?”

Dean swallows and looks down. He hadn’t even gotten that far. They had no real idea where Eve’s minions had taken the missing and no easy way to find them. He just wanted a solution that he could count on. “I was doing ok even without you.”

“Dean, your proposed deal was so full of loopholes that Crowley could have shown up with a bible and told you that they were in a shed.”

“Fine.” Dean kicks one of the clumps of grass. “Where’s Bobby, anyway? Figured he’d be out here by now.”

“He’s calming Lisa down after you ran out like your ass was on fire. You’ve got dependents now, jackass, you can’t pull this shit.”

“I--” Dean cuts himself off as Crowley reappears, well outside the circle.

“They’re in Detroit, cute abandoned house near the river.” Dean’s phone chimes with a new text. Pulling it from his pocket, Dean sees an address. “That’s the address. They’ve stashed them with a pack of werewolves. I will not be held accountable if that changes before you can get there.”

Dean waves it off, “Yeah, sure. It’s fine, we get it.”

Crowley sniffs. “I’ll get you my research shortly. Have a lovely evening, gentlemen.” He disappears again.

Dean blows out a breath and lets the tension bleed from his shoulders. “Well, we’re further than we were before.”

“Yeah. And Bobby is going to kill you if Lisa doesn’t do it first.”

“You’re the idiot who made a deal with the King of Hell, Sammy. Not me.” Dean tosses the spray paint and other debris back into the bowl before beginning the walk back to the house.

“That’s bullshit, Dean. It was your idea!”

 

 

Sam gives up for the night when Crowley hasn’t delivered his share of the information by one. Lisa is still going-- hyped up on grief and coffee-- familiarizing herself with the resources they already have. Bobby went upstairs over an hour ago and Dean’s dozing on the couch, pretending he’s awake.

Carefully, he pokes Dean awake, catching Lisa’s eye. “C’mon, guys. Let’s get some sleep. It’ll still be here in the morning.”

“If Crowley doesn’t…” Lisa starts before trailing off.

Sam holds up a flash drive he’s copied everything onto. “It’s all right here. He can wake me up or he can wait until morning.” Dean’s too tired to be properly reassuring, but Sam can pick up the slack. “We won’t let anything go wrong, not for this.”

The past couple of days have been exhausting, halfway across the country and back multiple times, but Sam wakes up early anyway. It’s barely light out, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get back to sleep.

Creeping downstairs, Bobby is already in the process of making coffee. Sam grabs a cup before going outside. As soon as he’s beyond the warding on the house, Crowley shows up.

“It’s about time you showed up.”

“It’s barely six in the morning.” Sam takes a drink of his coffee before digging into his pocket. “Your share of the information exchange?”

Rolling his eyes, Crowley replies, “On the porch. Some of those are irreplaceable, so keep them safe. Where’s your share?”

Sam drops the flash drive into Crowley’s hand before continuing to amble around the yard. “Everything we have digitized. We’ll get the rest of it to you as soon as we can. Probably get yours back too.”

“Any idea when that might be?”

Sam shrugs. “It’ll have priority. If Bobby has help, it’ll get done faster. Less than a week would be my guess.”

Crowley nods. “Keep me informed. Your brother has my phone number so dispense with the summoning nonsense. So old fashioned.”

“Sure.” Crowley disappears between one step and the next, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.

There’s not many thoughts to have. Eve taking Cas and Ben is clearly a warning against taking action against her. A hostage exchange without the decency to send them a note. Leaving them there is impossible, but going to get them will just paint a bigger target on their backs.

They need to find a way to neutralize Eve before they can even look in the direction of rescue.

Sam winces around a sip of coffee, wonders if he can possibly point that out from very far away, or maybe get Bobby to break the news. Lisa is going to murder whoever does it.

There’s only three boxes on the porch when he gets back to the house. Piling them together, Sam carefully brings them inside, placing them next to the secondary desk in the office. Part of him wants to start looking through them immediately, but he needs to do something that’s not Eve related for thirty minutes.

Bobby’s pushing some eggs around in a cast iron pan at the stove, a plate of bacon already cooked off to the side. He nods towards the single cup of coffee left in the pot, “Make more when you’ve filled your cup.” Pausing a moment to scrape the eggs out of the pan onto a separate plate, he continues, “You idjits’ gamble pay off?”

“Three boxes in the office, courtesy of the King of Hell himself.”

“So he did make it.”

Sam shrugs while measuring out coffee grounds. “Must have, if the war is over and he’s still around. Pretty sure losing in Hell doesn’t come with a retirement package.” Bobby nods. “Anyway, Crowley’s a smarmy prick, but so far he’s holding up his end.”

“You three heading out to get the kid and Cas today?”

Sam winces, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea yet. If she took them as hostages, I’m worried about provoking her.”

“But at the same time, if she doesn’t want them as hostages…”

“Then we’re leaving an eleven year old kid in the hands of a primordial force.”

“Well, it ain’t like you boys aren’t easy to get ahold of.”

Sam stares at the line of phones on the wall, thinks about how there’s been no contact all. He barely knows Ben, but he seems like a cool kid, even if he’s more into baseball or comics than Sam knows anything about. But it had been fun hanging out with him, watching movies until bedtime.

A glimpse of a future they might actually get. Until it had all gone to shit-- skinwalkers breaking in, grabbing Ben and Cas before Sam could react-- because he’d been securely asleep on the couch.

“Not sure that’s going to be enough. Not this time.”

Bobby nods, swallowing the last bite of his breakfast. “Well, I’ve got a distraction to keep you and Dean occupied.”

“I don’t know if…”

“Yes. Whatever it is, yes.” Dean pushes into the kitchen from the hallway. “Especially if it’ll get us closer to that bitch. I’m not gonna be able to focus on research. Not right now.” He pours himself a cup of coffee and snags a piece of bacon off the stove. “I’ll go by myself if you need Sam too.”

Sam looks at him, appalled. “No way! Not by yourself, not right now.”

“I’m a big boy, I’ll be ok.”

“Dean, I’m not explaining to Lisa that her son, boyfriend, and his boyfriend are all missing. It’s not even a question.”

Dean looks to Bobby for backup. He just drinks his coffee and shuffles through stacks of paper before pulling out a manilla folder. “Stow it, princess. Lisa’ll help me or whatever she wants to do. Sam will go with you.”

The shower upstairs squeals as it turns on, adding to the underlying tension. “I can’t… Sam will be better…”

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam says, dryly. “But I’m coming with you.”

“You two idjits stay out of my hair for a few days. If I can’t find anything, we’ll call you back and we’ll go all hands on deck.” Bobby hands the folder to Sam before pushing away from the table. “Now that it’s a reasonable hour, I need to go make a phone call.” He stalks out of the room, pulling a phone Sam’s never seen before from his pocket.

Sam glances over at Dean who shrugs. “He’s been acting weird all fall. Happier. I don’t know.”

Staring after Bobby, Sam refills his coffee before sitting down at the table with the folder in front of him. “Weird.”

The case Bobby found is weird too: a couple of missing person reports, which is standard, but also an entire bar full of dead clones, which is not. Sam’s best guess is shapeshifters, although why they would be both all dead and that far from Eve’s base is beyond him.

It’s nearly thirty hours drive between Sioux Falls and Grants Pass though, so there’s plenty of time to figure out other options.

 

 

Another failure. Brief flickering lives, enough to claim them as hers, but not sustained. The Alpha she’d sent with her new child, to watch over it and prepare, thinks it burns too hot, kills the human before it can bring new ones into the fold. That’s not quite the case, Eve feels them, they are hers, but they’re not stable.

Well, it’s something to work on.

Looking towards the house on the horizon, she checks with the werewolves watching over her captives. The report back is not completely reassuring: they have regained consciousness, with no more indication of demon taint now than when she first inspected them. She had been certain the taint would appear when they woke.

The child, she truly did not expect to learn much from. He is more useful for leverage, for ensuring the other one’s cooperation, and eventually, all of their vile clan. He is purely human, lacking even the touch of sulfur, scared and angry about being taken from his home and mother. The wolves are already having trouble controlling him without resorting to more drastic measures.

The other one, both human and angel, smells of lightning and Eden alongside soap and gasoline. She doesn’t know what to make of him. Perhaps if she knew his name, his true name, from the beginning, she would know. Or perhaps she wouldn’t-- the beginning was a very long time ago, even in her exile to a realm where time is frozen.

She passes instructions to contact their pack. Their safety in exchange for their nest’s good behavior. They smell so faintly of Campbell-hunter-demon that letting them live is safer than killing them. A branch, more strongly touched by God’s hand than the others, that will survive. She is not unreasonable.

She turns towards other duties. There is still a nest hunting for the old man, more looking for the rest of his demented offspring. She’ll prune back the tree to allow for a better, healthier, bloom. Given the return of her stolen children, her revenge will be complete once the tree has been pruned.

 

 

“I don’t fucking believe this.” Lisa hisses as Dean drops onto the bed. “You’re just gonna, what, abandon me here, out of the way, while you go do some bullshit hunt instead of looking for Ben?”

“Here’s the address. Tell me how.” He pushes his phone into her hand. “Do you really think I wouldn't rather… God, Lis. Just fucking tell me how to do it without bringing them all down on us and I will.”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_. God, I should have known. Should have booted you right back out as soon as you showed up.”

Dean’s face crumples for a split second before firming. “Fuck you. You knew what I was, who I was.” Swallowing, he shoves past her. “Stay here where it’s safe. Help Bobby. I’ll bring Ben back.”

She watches him push out of the room and downstairs before she collapses onto the bed. His world has destroyed hers, taken her son and they don’t even know why. This shit just keeps coming, following her around. It never touches her directly, of course not, she knows how to handle that, but everyone around her-- her roommate back in college, her neighbors a couple years back, and now Ben.

The doors on the Impala slam a few minutes later, the engine roaring to life. Moving to the window that overlooks the back of the house, Lisa watches as Dean expertly backs the car out of the space and takes off, wheels spraying gravel over the surrounding cars.

The house is silent after the car is gone, and it feels empty. Empty like her home, like her arms. Making her way downstairs, there’s a pot of coffee on the burner and a plate of bacon on the stove but no sign of Bobby. Sighing, she eats the haphazard breakfast before moving into the study.

There’s no labels on the new piles to show which ones are even related to what they’re doing. Half of the titles aren’t even in English, or her rusty Spanish. ‘Help Bobby’ would be a lot more useful instruction if she had any idea where the man was, or if she knew what he was doing.

Gingerly, she picks up the first book she can read and settles onto the couch. Background reading, at least until she can do something more productive. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and sets it on the stack blasting one of her dance playlists. Maybe everyone else can sit in silence like a bunch of monks while looking at this crap, but she can’t.

Bobby shows up a couple hours later, coming up from the basement and smelling like fireworks. He looks in the study, almost shocked to see her, before nodding and heading upstairs. Lisa keeps reading. It’s actually been pretty interesting.

The phones in the kitchen only ring twice all day. Bobby gets the first one, on the line labelled National Park Service. The call doesn’t take very long, mostly Bobby claiming that someone is one of his employees. Lisa makes a concerted effort to ignore it.

The second call is mid-afternoon on the house line. Lisa thinks about ignoring it, even though she’s moved to the table in the kitchen, but instinct takes over and the phone is in her hand before she really thinks about it. “Singer Salvage.”

There’s a sigh in her ear and a couple seconds of shuffling, like the phone is getting passed off to someone else. “Bobby.” Cas’s gravel comes on the line.

“Cas!” She can’t hide the worry, looking up to meet Bobby’s eyes. “What’s going on? Is Ben with you? Is he okay?”

“I…” more scuffling in the background. “I don’t have long. Ben’s with me, we’re safe enough at the moment.”

She puts the phone on speaker when Bobby reaches the table. “At the moment?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll keep Ben safe.”

“What going on, Cas?” Bobby scowls at the phone.

Cas blows right past the question. “We’re hostages. For your good behavior, however she defines it.”

Bobby looks thoughtful, but doesn’t say anything.

“Can I talk to Ben? God, Cas, I know you’re taking care of him but…”

There’s more shouting and scuffling over the phone. A different voice, one she doesn’t recognize, growls, “As long as none of Eve’s children are hurt, these two will remain whole and unchanged. The moment that changes…” she trails off. “Hunters have nearly wiped out my pack. I look forward to doing the same to a hunter’s family.” The line goes dead.

Lisa’s scrambling for her phone before she even fully realizes what she’s doing, shakily unlocking it. She’s halfway through dialing Dean when Bobby pulls the phone out of her hand.

“Lisa, I need you to calm down. We’ll get them back.”

“They have my son! How-”

“Because I expect you to trust Castiel, angel of the lord, even if you don’t trust Dean or Sam or me, to protect Ben. That’s all Cas does- protect his family.” He releases her phone when she nods. “I don’t like it either. But we have to figure out what Eve’s doing in Grants Pass and a way to stop her. Send Dean a text, let them know to call us when they stop for gas. Then we get back to work.”

The boys call about an hour later, when they’re stopped a bit south of Rapid Falls for gas and dinner. Other than offering some additional information regarding their route though, Dean is oddly quiet. Lisa doesn’t think about it too much while they’re on the phone but later, when she’s staring at a notebook filled with Dean’s handwriting, she realizes that he never said a word to her.

She wakes up to a series of texts, delivered at about two in the morning:

_> > In Rock Springs for the night._

_> > This is too dangerous for you and Ben._

And another, delivered even later, long after he should have been asleep.

_> > You’re right. Shouldn’t have brought you into this._

She doesn’t respond right away. Even after she’s showered and has a cup of coffee in front of her, long after she should be reading, Lisa keeps reading the messages from last night then scrolling up and reading everything.

Conversations and jokes and plans and everything else. Even on the road, Dean is doing the best he can to be present, to be a part of their lives. Hell, he’s doing a better job at it than a lot of divorced parents.

_< < Are you saying it was all bad? Because it’s been the best time of my life._

She sighs, putting her phone down and joining Bobby in the office. This is something she can help with. What Dean is doing, she can’t.

It takes another three days of near constant researching, juggling books between the kitchen table and Bobby’s desk, before they find anything that is useful. Dean keeps them updated on their hunt out in Oregon (a bust, the thing was gone before they even arrived. Lisa mostly succeeds at not screaming about the time wasted, and when she does, it’s into her pillow or sublimated into her muscles while she does her morning yoga on the front porch.) and they’ll be heading back east in the morning or maybe tonight, depending on how tired he is. Part of her wants them to start tonight, but she can hear the exhaustion in his voice, pushing harder won’t do any good.

Cocking her head, Lisa reads over the passage in front of her again:

> _The earth was without form and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And God saw the clay, that it was good: and God divided the formless from the void. And God called the formless creation, and the void he called nothing._
> 
> _... And God said, Behold, the woman is the mother of all living. Now, lest she put forth her will and birth monsters: Therefore the Lord God sent her forth from the fields of Adam, to the formless void._
> 
> _So he drove out the woman; and he placed at the west of Creation Seraphim, and a freezing sword which turned every way, to keep the way of Creation. And God pronounced her doom: Now art thou cursed; an exile of creation, fugitive in the formless void._
> 
> _And Eve went forth, followed by monsters, into the void._

It doesn’t seem like much, an account of Eve’s exile. This is probably the third time she’s looked at it, and who knows how many times Bobby has but something about it keeps sticking in her head.

Seraphim.

“Bobby, what rank is Cas?”

“Huh?”

“Angels have some sort of hierarchy, right? What rank was- is Cas?” She passes him the book, post-it carefully adhered to underline the relevant verse. “If a seraphim guards the doorway or whatever…”

“A different seraph, one who’s been in the world or touched by god, might be mistaken as a superior. And unlock the door.”

“Or re-lock it.”

Bobby sets the book aside before he starts digging for a different one. “Alright. Let’s work with that for right now. God knows we don’t have anything else.”

Lisa can’t stop herself from letting Dean know that they might have a lead, that they’ve accomplished something besides digitizing books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With so many apologies to the original translators of the King James Bible


	11. Chapter 11

When he returns to Hell from Sioux Falls, Crowley expects war to have broken out again. In a place that can recall millennia, hours, years, even decades are nothing. He sends out his spies and agents, carries on as if nothing changed.

Yet, nothing changes. There’s the usual machinations of course, some are even concerning. Crowley deals with those rebellions personally, killing everyone involved. It cements his reputation as king and…

He’s bored. There’s nothing worth his attention, very little of being king actually involves him at all. Guthrie handles much of the day to day things, there’s no new and inventive ways to torture that Bela has discovered, there’s simply nothing.

All of Hell has been working towards the apocalypse for far longer than he realized. All the scheming, planning, and backstabbing served purely to determine who would be on the forefront of the war. Even Azazel’s little experiments to find a leader of the army who would descend on Earth were merely schemes to pass the time and jockey for Lilith and Lucifer’s favor. None of it _meant_ anything.

He’d realized, years ago, that if Lucifer won, after Earth was ‘cleansed,’ Hell would be next. It’s why he’d helped the Winchesters to begin with. Now he’s looking at an entire plane of existence with nothing to _do_. That is probably the biggest threat to his reign and one he needs to solve.

The areas that had been destroyed by the war are changed first, flattening them even further into a grey, endless, featureless plain. Empty one moment, he fills it with those who have newly left the rack and those still awaiting their turn. He leaves the Pit itself alone-- some places resist any attempt to change them-- but Limbo he can change with impunity.

An office building, a mockery of the halls of Heaven, drab walls, flickering yellow lighting, and unceasing monotony over the intercom “Now serving number 1,349,956,424. Now serving number 1,349,956,425.” The line moves constantly, cycling souls back to the end if there’s no space on the rack for them. It’s possibly the cruelest thing he’s ever created.

Stepping back, after it’s created, he has a brief moment to admire it before the insistent burning of a summoning takes hold. Not the standard summoning of a crossroads demon, or even a more specific ritual where he’s summoned by name.

This burns, a hand digging into his chest, latching behind his sternum and _pulling_.

He responds without even thinking about it, anything to make the pain stop.

 

 

The spell her children found her is impossibly old. They tell her that no one speaks the language anymore, hasn’t for generations upon generations. The book transcribed from a codex copied from a scroll made from reeds, the meaning and culture lost, this spell the only testament to its existence. It’s a written form of the language she whispered over her children’s cradles long, long ago.

The oldest of them, the first-born werewolf, startles when she hears it. “Mother?”

“Hush, child. It will bring us our enemies.” She wastes no time, summoning the human immediately.

The human, Samuel, stands in front of her within seconds, shivering but still defiant. “I’m under Crowley’s protection.”

She greets him with a blade in hand. “Your agreement with the demon is meaningless. You have captured my children, tortured them, and plotted to take those who have earned their rest from their home. You yourself do not belong here, you were raised solely to accomplish these things.”

“Your children are vermin. I exterminated them.” He smirks at her. “It must just be awful to outlive your children.”

Her hand moves and blood arcs across the room. “My children deserve life, same as yours. It is unfortunate that most of your progeny never learned that.” Stepping over the slumping corpse, she orders the mess cleaned up. “Notify me when that is done and we will have a chat with the demon.”

One of the kitsune moves forward, hesitantly, “May we harvest the body?”

“Do whatever you’d like. Burn the remains when you’re done.”

“Yes, of course.” The kitsune bows and backs away, glancing towards the family of ghouls that hover in the doorway. They move forward, picking up the body, carefully keeping the blood away from the only vampire in the room.

She performs the spell again, dragging the supposed King of Hell out of his palace and in front of her.

“Did you enjoy your power trip? Enjoy controlling beings far beyond your ken? Did they give you all the information you wanted, all the power you imagined?”

“Enjoy the power?” Crowley shrugs. “Enjoy the results of it? Very much so.”

She looks at him, both the flesh and the demon animating it. “You’re bored.”

“I’m secure. Hell will find its footing again, it still has a purpose.” He snaps his fingers, a glass full of amber liquid appearing. “Purgatory though, it was never supposed to exist. And you… I know your story. You should still be there.”

Eve hmms, watches him turn to face her as she paces around him. “Yet someone let me through.”

“Whoever let you out? It was an accident, trying to do something else.”

“You would know, you did it. On accident and with Heaven’s help, perhaps, but it was you.” His face gives nothing away. They stand in silence for a few minutes, looking at one another, before she sighs. “I was content with the status quo and you-”

“My intent was never to upset your position. Merely to solidify my own. Surely we can come to some sort of agreement?”

“No. You arranged for my children to be kidnapped, tortured, and murdered. There can be no agreement. You pushed me into this, Crowley. After all, a mother defends her children.”

He blinks at her for a moment, looking at others in the room for the first time. “So what then? You can’t protect all of them all the time.”

“I don’t need to. Your hunter puppets are dead. The few survivors, a bastard offshoot, are under a cease fire by their own reluctance to act against their own.” She picks up a glass of wine from the side table. “By now, they’ve figured out that the only thing protecting them is good behavior.”

Crowley chokes on his drink. “A bastard offshoot?” Chuckling, he smiles. “I assume you mean the family of the child you took.”

“And the angel.”

“They know you have them. They’re letting you think you have the upper hand.” He pauses. “You know what, even if we could have come to an agreement regarding the loan of those souls, I don’t want to be here when the Winchesters arrive.” Snapping his fingers, he drops his glass and disappears, glass shattering on the floor.

He shouldn’t have been able to leave, she should be able to control any abilities he might have, nothing, _nothing_ should have been able to force its way from under her. Yet he did.

She traces the lines of the circle she was promised would trap him. There, where Samuel had fallen, a single scrape through a line and smear of blood over another. Crowley had been toying with her the entire time, able to leave whenever he wished, only staying long enough to see her position.

She whirls back towards her children who are still watching from the corners of the room. “Find him. Find _all_ of them and keep them from contacting each other.”

The werewolf nods and shepherds the rest out of the room.

 

 

Sam’s about to insist that they stop for the night when Lisa’s text comes through. They’ve been in the car for something like sixteen hours and he just wants to get out of the stupid car for longer than it takes to pump a tank of gas. But then Lisa texts and the chances of Dean stopping go from low to non-existent.

Sam pulls out his own phone immediately to call Bobby. “You found a lead?”

“Lisa did. Fresh eyes reading passages that everyone else just glosses over. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah. What did she find?”

“That version of Genesis that Crowley dropped off, remember it?”

“Yeah, uh… an extended story of creation and then it got into the begats and…”

“And you stopped reading because begats are boring. This one also included Eve’s exile and the guardian set against her return.”

“Holy shit.” Sam looks over at Dean, still concentrating on the road. “Hold on, let me put you on speaker.”

“What’d you guys find, Bobby?”

“When God kicked Adam and Eve out of Eden, he put a couple of angels on the door to keep them out. Then he did the same thing when he exiled Eve.”

Dean briefly looks excited before his face falls, “We’re not exactly rolling in angels we can call up.”

“Maybe once we get Cas back…” Sam trails off.

“I don’t know that he’ll be enough.” Bobby cuts in. “Blah blah, god used a seraph of the second degree with a frozen sword or something. We need Cas back, so he can help with background on this, but we might need heavenly assistance on this one.”

“Alright, Bobby. Keep looking.” Sam looks over at Dean grimacing in the half-light of the dash. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning sometime.” Dean gives him a thumbs up of wordless agreement, refocusing on the road.

“Take care, idjits.”

Sam hangs up the phone and lets a couple miles pass in relative silence. “What did you not want to tell Bobby?”

Dean’s grip tightens on the wheel before relaxing. “Pretty sure the folks in charge of Heaven wouldn’t piss on Cas if he was on fire. They did something when they exiled him, I don’t know what. He didn’t wanna talk about it. But he’s having trouble.”

“Maybe…”

Dean shakes his head. “If it’s not us stepping up to restart the apocalypse, they won’t help.”

“That’s a worse plan than just letting Eve do whatever the fuck she wants.”

“Yep.”

They fall silent, watching the headlights on the highway. Dean drives for another hour before pulling off to get more gas. They switch drivers at Sam’s insistence-- either Dean lets Sam drive for the rest of the way or they’re stopping for the night.

Sam detours through town when they hit Sioux Falls so they can pick up some basic groceries. He leaves Dean asleep in the car while he runs in, parked so the rising sun doesn’t wake Dean up.

There’s a sheriff department truck parked behind him when he gets out of the store, Sheriff Mills leaning against it.

“Sam Winchester.” She makes a point of looking him up and down. “Your brother told me you were dead.”

“Yeah, uh… that was a… misunderstanding.”

She raps her knuckle against the trunk before nodding. “But you’ve got everything cleared up, you’re not a shapeshifter or anything, and I don’t need to be shooting you with the special gun behind my seat?”

Dean jerks in the front seat at the noise, twisting his head around to see what’s going on. Sam sighs, but waves so that Dean can see him. “Fully human, ensouled and everything.”

She mouths ‘ensouled’ before shaking her head. “Pretty sure I want to stay away from that one. Let the old coot know it’s his week to buy breakfast when you get home, alright?”

“Uh… yeah, sure, Sheriff.”

Jody nods before climbing back into her truck. “See you boys around.”

Dean scoots over to the driver’s seat while Sam drops the grocery bags into the backseat. “What’d she want?”

Sam raises an eyebrow before handing over the keys. “You apparently told her I was dead?”

“Because I thought you were! It’s not like anyone told me that Cas pulled you out!”

“Dean, calm down, it’s not that big of a deal. I’m not mad, I get it. She’s not mad either, maybe just a bit confused.”

They’re parking in the back of Bobby’s house twenty minutes later. Lisa is on the porch with her yoga mat doing her morning routine. Sam lets himself inside while she and Dean greet each other-- after a week of grumpy Dean, the last thing he wants is to be in the middle of that.

“Anything new on that lead from last night?” he asks over his shoulder while putting the groceries away.

“You should look at the exact passage after you get some sleep. The only way you boys are here this early is if you drove straight through.”

Sam shrugs, “You know how Dean gets. But yeah, a nap sounds good. Oh, Sheriff Mills said something about it being your turn to buy breakfast this week?” Bobby is red when Sam turns around. “Holy shit, Bobby. Really? The sheriff?”

“She… We… Shut up.”

Still chuckling, Sam makes his way upstairs to the spare bed so he can sack out for a while.

Dean wakes him up a few hours later, hammering on the door. “C’mon dude, get a move on. We need to get going.”

Sighing, Sam runs a hand through his hair and stumbles downstairs. “Jeez, did you sleep at all?” He trails off when he sees Crowley standing in the living room. “What’s he doing here?”

“Good morning to you too, Moose.”

“Crowley.” Sam accepts the cup of coffee Lisa hands him. “Do you have something new to add?”

“In the interest of sharing information, yes. Eve’s already destroyed most of the Campbells, perhaps all of them. Seems to think you two and your spawn are a bastard offshoot that is unimportant enough to merit skipping.”

Sam blinks. “I…”

“We’re the unimportant ones for a change, Sammy. The rest of our family, the ones who ignored us our entire lives and never helped Dad, they’re a warning against crossing Eve.” Sam can’t tell if Dean is trying not to laugh or cry. It could be either, or both.

It _is_ funny, in a hysterical way. For years, they’ve been the most important beings in the universe, prizes to be won by any angel or demon with ambition. Now, they’re just any other set of hunters.

“Regardless, Eve has decided she likes Earth much more than she likes Purgatory, and will be setting up a permanent residence here. How long do you suppose the precious status quo will continue once that happens?”

“Given time, we could make it sustainable, but-”

“You’re not going to get that sort of time. Once Earth has been subjugated, she’ll aim for Hell,” Crowley snaps.

“And… that’s where your interest comes in.” Lisa cuts through Crowley’s bullshit. “You need someone else to help you keep your kingdom.”

“Very good, my dear.” Crowley bows towards Lisa. “Hell is already more boring than it has ever been, but I’m discovering that I enjoy boredom compared to its alternative.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the additional information. Any reason you had to deliver it in person?”

“Convenience. Also, I believe I was promised additional books the next time I was topside.”

Dean grumbles as he starts piling Crowley’s books into boxes. “Convenience, my ass. You’re hiding from something.”

“Not at all.”

Deliberately catching Crowley’s eye, Lisa drops a flash drive into one of the boxes. “Library boxed.”

Sam leans against the desk, sipping his coffee, trying to wake up enough to keep up with Crowley. Warning them that Eve believes they’re unimportant, picking up his share of the information exchange in person, letting them know that Hell is stable… Sam catches Dean’s eye, waits for him to nod. “You know, Crowley, if you’re bored. I believe it’s time for us to pick up Cas and Ben. Could we interest you in giving us a ride?”

Crowley looks from Sam to Dean, glances over at Lisa. “Is everyone coming on this errand, or just you two?”

Lisa frown, “Like hell I’m not coming along. She took my son. I want to get at least one punch in.” Dean snorts, but doesn’t try to dissuade her. Sam watches them move around each other, the sort of movement that they’ve been developing for months.

This is real, even if it’s not what he’d envisioned for Dean last year. Lisa, Ben, and Cas are what Dean deserves. Shaking his head to clear it, he looks back at Crowley, “All three of us, then.”

“With five to beam back.”

Sam’s not sure if he actually sees a smirk cross Crowley’s face or if it’s a trick of the light. Either way, Crowley nods. “Get ready then.”

 

 

Cas knows, as soon as he wakes up, that Dean will be here today. It’s not prayer, just bone-deep certainty. He pulls Ben close where he’s still sleeping, keeping him nearby and easily defendable.

The werewolves are discussing, loudly, what they should do when Cas focuses on the voices that filter through the floorboards. It’s not unusual-- they’ve been arguing for four days about their chances when the Winchesters show up-- but there’s a special sort of urgency today.

It wouldn’t be the first time panic got a foothold in this house, only to die out. Cas encourages it when he can without putting Ben in danger, but it’s been over a day since he had a chance to do more than glare impotently.

Even without his grace, he’s stronger and faster than the werewolves, barely. But without it, he can’t shield Ben from getting hurt. Worse, if Ben does get hurt, he can’t heal it. A month ago, they would have never been taken, he could have gotten them out immediately. Now he’s stuck in a basement because he can get himself out, but not Ben.

But that’s Eve’s plan. Use them as guarantees for Dean and Sam’s behavior, Ben as a guarantee for his. No one can act against her without putting the others in danger. It’s a solid strategy.

A chair thumping back to all four legs echoes through the basement, waking Ben. “Cas?”

“I’m here.”

“Is everything okay?” Ben asks quietly, “They’re making a lot of noise.”

Cas nods. “Yeah, it’s fine. They’re talking about Eve and what will happen to them when Dean and Sam get here.”

Ben stays silent for a while, pushing himself up and starting his baseball stretches. After a while, he moves on to yoga. He’s doing very well at keeping himself occupied. Cas has already started planning how to translate how an angel fights into something suitable for a human child. Ben won’t be the first human to learn, but he will be the first in a very long time.

There’s a barely perceptible pop in the background, along with the sudden sense of a demon and three humans. “Ben, get ready.”

Immediately, Ben moves to stand behind Cas. They’ve discussed this too, in the long hours with nothing else to do.

“Is it Dean? Or Mom?”

“I don’t know yet. But we’ll find out. Do you remember the plan?”

“If Dean or Mom or Sam show up, I let the grown ups take care of the werewolves and make a run for it.” Ben parrots. “I don’t try to help, I immediately run as far as I can. Even though I can shoot.”

Sadly, Cas looks down at Ben. “I don’t want you getting hurt.” He doesn’t mention that even if he did, shooting targets at a range is very different from shooting a living creature.

“Dean doesn’t want me hunting either.”

A loud crash of a door being kicked open shakes the house before Cas can respond, followed by a second one. He can hear Dean and Sam shouting upstairs, the occasional gunshot. Ben is silent next to him before Cas directs him to the corner they’ve been sleeping in, away from the stairs.

There’s the sound of a shot upstairs, silencing the fighting. Cas motions for Ben to stay put before cautiously starting up the staircase. The locked door at the top flings open, the female werewolf nearly tripping down the stairs in her haste to get to the basement.

Cas tries to step out of the way, hoping she trips and falls but no luck. Grabbing the rail for balance, she stops herself and kicks him out of her path.

He pushes himself away from the wall, bull-rushing her into the wall. Cas gets her into the corner opposite from Ben and away from the staircase. Ben takes the chance and rushes for the stairs.

Cas’s foot slips in some gravel where the concrete has broken down and the werewolf is on him in an instant. Flipping them around, she pushes him face first against the wall, grabbing his arm and dragging it up, nearly dislocating his shoulder.

He can’t stop the bellow. Faintly, over the pounding in his ears, he hears Ben stop running, pausing on the staircase. Cas manages to yell, “Ben, go!” before the werewolf grabs his throat with her free hand.

“Shut up.” She snarls, before shouting up the stairs. “I’ll kill them both if you don’t stop.” Slowly, she pulls Cas away from the wall, frog marching him to the foot of the stairs. Ben is still frozen most of the way up, holding onto the rail.

Sam carefully eases the door open at the top, looking down at them. Ignoring the werewolf, he quickly checks the staircase for any threats. “Ben, you coming up?”

“Yeah.” Ben’s voice wavers, “Don’t…”

“We won’t hurt you, Ben. Just come up the stairs and I’ll make sure you get outside safe, okay?”

The werewolf makes her move when Ben’s most of the way up the staircase, punching Cas in the kidney before pushing him to the side and making a mad dash up the stairs.

Cas lunges after her, landing heavily on his side, grabbing her ankle and pulling her leg out from under her.

The werewolf grabs the rail on her way down and kicks at his head and shoulder. Twisting so the kicks land on the outside of his shoulder, his grip involuntarily loosens with the shock. The werewolf lunges up another step up before he drags her back down.

Cas can hear Ben running the last few steps, Sam pushing him through the doorway and around the corner.

“Cas, clear!”

Automatically, Cas rolls away, off the open edge of the staircase. The air rings with two gunshots as soon as he’s away, in the endless moment between starting to fall and landing. The werewolf continues to scrabble upwards, gaining a few more stairs before a third, final, shot rings out and she collapses downward.

From his position-- breathless and half under the staircase-- Cas watches in a daze as the blood spreads from her chest, drips down. Blinking, he feels blood hit exposed skin before he lays his head back down so he can concentrate on getting his breath back.

Dean’s at his side the next time he opens his eyes, kneeling in the dust. “Dude, Cas. You tracking?”

“Ow.” He whispers hoarsely. “Ben okay?”

Dean looks down at him, an expression that Cas can’t place on his face. “Ben’s fine. Lisa got him out as soon as he was upstairs.” He inhales, looks up the staircase. “How about you? Anything broken?”

Cas pauses to take stock before shaking his head, reaching for Dean’s hand. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.” Carefully, he pushes himself up one handed, holding onto Dean’s hand like a lifeline. “Just give me a few minutes.” His head and shoulder ache, but there’s nothing that can be done about that right now.

Dean shifts slightly, so he’s supporting Cas, running his free hand up his arm. Leaning over, Cas kisses him deeply.

Faintly, in an unoccupied corner of his brain, Cas hears “Ben!” before a pair of bare feet pound across the floor and down the stairs.

“Cas!” There’s a moment of silence as Ben figures out what he’s looking at. “Is… is she dead?”

“Fuck. Ben, get back upstairs.” Dean snaps. He waits until Cas has his balance back before standing. “You didn’t… fuck!”

“Dean? Is Cas alright? I heard him fall and...” Ben trails off.

“Go back upstairs!” Dean inhales sharply before starting again. “Cas is alright. We’ll be up in a moment, okay?” Watching to make sure Ben gets through the doorway and around the corner, Dean groans before leaning over to help Cas up. “Shit. I wanted…”

“I know. He’ll be alright. We have other problems anyway: Eve will be here as soon as she realizes what happened.”

Dean nods and drags the werewolf off the staircase to clear it. Cas winces at the dull smack of her skull hitting the concrete before slowly climbing to his feet.

 

 

Lisa latches onto Cas as soon as they’re outside, Ben at her heels. It leaves Dean standing awkwardly to the side next to Sam, watching for cops or nosey neighbors. Not that they need to.

Even in the middle of the day, there’s no one here. This isn’t a living neighborhood anymore. Sure, part of that Dean can chalk up to Detroit being Detroit and the fall of the American auto industry, but this is new.

There’s still signs that this was a community not too long ago. Now, the predators have moved in. It makes him sick to his stomach, seeing an entire city of failure, abandoned by civilians to escape the monsters.

Quietly, he turns back towards the house. “Sam, what do you think? Burn it?”

“Probably our best bet.” He sighs heavily. “This whole area is giving me the creeps anyway.”

Dean nods. “Let’s get started then.” He doesn’t look towards Cas, Lisa, and Ben. They can stay out here, where it’s safer.

It doesn’t take very long to clear the house of any identifying information, or to wrap the bodies in clean sheets before covering them with salt. It makes a very satisfactory blaze and a good warning.

Dean’s phone buzzes in his pocket. “Hello.”

“You sure stirred up the hornet’s nest.”

“What are you talking about, Crowley?”

“Turns out that Eve doesn’t appreciate it when her guards get killed when she’s in communication with them.”

Dean hadn’t even thought about that as a possibility. “Shit. Can you-”

Crowley cuts him off. “No. A deal’s a deal after all.”

Fuck. Dean hangs up. “Okay, we need to move. Now.”

“What’s going on?” Lisa looks over from where she’s standing.

“Eve’s on her way. We need to get at least you and Ben clear.”

“What about Crowley?” Sam nods towards the phone still in Dean’s hand. “Didn’t he agree to get us out of here?”

“Wasn’t a deal. Just him doing us a favor.”

“That fucker. I knew it.”

“Good for you.” Dean moves forward, scoops Ben up and onto his back. Sam is already ranging ahead, looking for a car while Lisa keeps up with him, the pistol he’d given her as an afterthought held at the ready.

“Did you find a way to deal with Eve while we were indisposed?” Cas asked next to him, keeping pace while Ben hangs onto Dean.

“Yes. No. Maybe?” Dean shakes his head. “Lisa found it, but we wanted you to take a look before we put it into motion.” He’s incredibly aware of the kid hanging onto his back, listening carefully to every word they say, and probably the ones they don’t say too.

Up ahead, Lisa waves them towards a garage that looks just as abandoned as the rest of the street. Inside though, it’s got a mid-nineties Honda in it, still travel worthy.

Looking over at Ben, who’s intensely watching him check out the car, Dean nudges him with his shoulder. “Hey, you’re not allowed to do this without me, but if you pull these two wires…” He shows Ben how to hotwire the car, pushing aside how guilty he feels about it. It keeps Ben distracted at least, while Sam and Lisa fill in Cas.

Dean doesn’t watch when Lisa and Ben drive away. Too dangerous, too… something, to watch them leave him behind. Like they always would. Sam and Cas let him watch in silence, standing at his sides.


	12. Carry On, My Wayward Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for violence against skinwalkers in dog form**  
> I don't feel it's explicit, but if you're worried about it, let me know.

Leaning back in his chair, Sam shakes his head. Even with Cas’s knowledge, the lead Lisa found is still their best, only option.

Slamming the chair back down onto all four legs, he cuts through the argument that’s been going on for fifteen minutes. “Dean, shut up. Cas, just reabsorb the grace you stuck in me. We can’t hold off forever. We need to move.”

“We don’t even know if this will work!” Dean explodes. “This might just screw you up”

“You managed just fine when you got out of Hell. Even if we had another option, I don’t want Cas to walk into this defenseless.”

“If it had been an option, I would have done the same for Dean as I did for you. And,” Cas raises an eyebrow, “I’m hardly defenseless.”

“Well, yeah, but you know, you’re not used... “ He trails off as Cas’s face transforms into a smirk. “Fuck you. I don’t want you to get hurt!” They’re not taking this seriously, how the fuck are they not taking this seriously? “She’s killed god knows how many hunters, better equipped ones.”

They exchange glances over the table before Dean sighs. “You’re not wrong. But the last thing we need is you breaking down or something.”

“Then find another option to get Cas powered up.” Sam pushes back from the table. “I’m going to call Bobby, see if he has any updates. We don’t have a viable plan here, guys. No matter how much we want this to be simple.”

The phone call to Bobby goes about as well as he expects: nothing new. A generic banishment might work, especially if Cas performs it, but that’s not much.

Sam’s still brooding when he comes back to the kitchen, stopping dead when he sees Dean and Cas. They’ve abandoned the subtle touches they’ve been half-hiding. Instead, Dean has an arm wrapped around Cas’s waist, keeping him close, their faces buried in each other’s necks. Suddenly, Sam can see how scared they are, how worried they are about Lisa.

It’s a quiet moment, probably the last one before the storm, and Sam has to break it.

They jump apart when he knocks on the door frame. “Nothing new from Bobby. His best guess is banishing her, use grace to seal it.”

Cas shakes his head. “She’s human. That would seal her here.” He’s silent for a moment. “There were… rumors about how it was done, shortly after Lucifer fell and Eve was cast out. Between those and the ritual Crowley found-” He sighs. “I can do it.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

“There are things locked in Purgatory that are older than Eve, older than creation. Letting them out, even on accident, would be… bad.”

Sam nods, feeling more balanced. “So we need to keep all the monsters away from you while you do the ritual?”

Cas nods. “It will require my full concentration to do this.”

“Alright. How close do you need to be? What else do you need from us?”

Cas winces, looks away. “Power. Nothing will accept me as a seraph as I am now, let alone anything that has strict rules governing it. Raphael didn’t have to do anything else.”

Dean drops a hand to Cas’s knee. “So we’re back to that.”

“Cas, you got powered up before using Samuel’s soul. What about that?”

Cas swallows, looks uneasy, even with Dean’s hand on his knee. “Human souls are-- Wars have been fought over the possession of them. Crowley’s plan to use the power from the souls in Purgatory wasn’t particularly innovative. He simply succeeded where everyone else failed.”

“Okay…” Dean drawls. “And the problem is…?”

“Anything using the soul-- magic, transmuting it into grace, _anything--_ is incredibly dangerous. The nearest analogy is a nuclear reactor. Done with care, it provides power in relative safety. Without care, it can explode.”

“And you did that to our grandfather?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “I told you it could have killed us all.”

“Wow, man. Harsh.”

Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head. “We don’t have a choice at this point, other than which chest you’d like to stick your hand into.”

“Sam, I can’t…”

“Cas, you either pull your grace out of me, and top off whatever you need if it’s not enough, or you stick your hand into Dean and regain it that way.” Turning on his heel, Sam walks back out of the kitchen.

 

 

Dean lets out a frustrated sigh when Sam walks out. “Cas, just do it.”

Cas finally nods. “Since we apparently don’t have a choice.” Impassively rolling up his sleeves, he pushes the table away from Dean and stands over him.

Dean takes a quick deep breath before settling more firmly into his chair and spreading his legs. Reaching up, he pulls Cas closer by his belt loops. “Just be careful about it.”

Grunting, Cas grabs Dean’s hand and offers a brief smile before leaning over. “This might hurt a bit.”

That’s an understatement. It hurts more than anything Dean has experienced outside of Hell and it gives that a run for its money. Burning settles behind his breastbone along with the same light as with Samuel. His heart skips a beat and he can’t breathe. His hand tightens in Cas’s and he’s certain that it would be breaking bones if Cas weren’t an angel. He tries to suck in air with nothing happening.

And then it’s over.

The glow fades, not even an afterimage. Cas steps away, shakes out his hand. He looks better, more rested, like the angel who showed up in that barn. Dean hadn’t realized how worn Cas looked, how human. It’s an uncomfortable sight, being able to tell at a glance just how far Cas has fallen.

It takes a couple minutes for the pain and adrenaline to fade. They don’t have time for him to recoup. He looks up at Cas, “You get everything you need?”

Christ, even Cas’s voice has changed. “Yes, Dean.” Whiskey burned vocal cords have been dragged through gravel again.

“Cas? You ok?”

Cas ignores him, disappearing without a word. Shit. “Sam, get your ass back in here. We’ve got…” He trails off. They have nothing, not with Cas taking off.

“Where’s Cas?”

“Powered up and fucked off.” Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Dean drags the table back to where it was. “God, I’d forgotten how much of a dick he can be.”

“He left?” Sam leans against the table. “Why? What did you say?”

“Nothing! Now shut up and help me figure out how we’re going to do this with two pistols, a few spare magazines, a machete, and a demon-killing knife.” They don’t even have an angel blade with them. Christ.

“Three pistols, actually. Found another one upstairs.” Dropping it on the table, Sam shakes his head. “Why would he fucking take off? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know, Sam. He was all robo-angel again.” Cas has a reason, that’s not in doubt. There’s always a reason for when his life goes to hell.

He pushes it out of his mind, refuses to think about it.

Dean catches a flicker of movement outside the window, diving to the floor and dragging Sam down. It’s a split second before he flips the table, but he gets it up.

Glass shatters before they’re completely down, bodies pouring in.

Sam pokes his head over the edge of the table before ducking back down. “Vampires.”

Dean nods. Tightening his grip on the machete, he nods again before bouncing over the table, not giving them time to get ready. Vampire speed doesn’t count for much when surprise is on his side; he beheads one on his way over the table, gets a second on the backswing before his blade catches on bone, bringing his momentum to a dead stop.

Sam’s pistol barks from behind the table, catches the vampire closest to Dean in the forehead. It doesn’t stop it for long, but long enough for him to jerk the machete free and into it’s neck.

Sam fires a few more times, headshots on the last two, giving Dean time to behead them.

He can feel the notch in the blade, dragging with every slice.

“Sam, garage. Now.” They need shelter. Dean hears Sam scream something at him. A hand snakes across his neck, forces his head to the side.

He missed one.

Letting his knees collapse, he fumbles the machete into a backwards grip before rearing upright as the vampire’s hold slips. He catches its knee with the blade on his way back up, hamstringing it. The vampire collapses, losing its hold on Dean.

Dean scrambles to get clear. Swinging the machete a final time, he severs the vampire’s head, lodging the machete into the wooden floor. Sam grabs him as soon as he’s done, hustling them both into the garage.

“Holy shit, Dean.” Wide eyed, Sam hands him a towel swiped from the stove. “Are you okay?”

Blinking, Dean pauses for a moment, playing catch up with his own body. “Nothing hurts. We gotta get out of here. There’ll be more.” They can’t wait, not if Eve’s found them.

He ignores the part of his brain chanting _Cas, Cas, Cas_. Cas is fine and an angel besides. Any note or trail that they leave can be found by someone else. If, when, Cas comes back, he’ll have to track them like he did last year, using phone calls and logic.

It’s not like they’re going to be subtle tonight.

Sam scans the walls and shelves for equipment before looking over at Dean. “We’re going after her anyway?”

“We’re here, we got nothing better to do, and she hurt my family.”

“Our family.”

He’s saved from responding by the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor inside. Pushing Sam behind him, Dean abandons his towel in favor of the pistol that Sam passes him.

Slowly, cautiously, he eases back into the kitchen, stepping carefully to avoid the still wet blood pools. Silently, he makes his way to the front room, a familiar form kneeling crumpled on the floor.

“Cas!” Dean abruptly stops. Cas looks wrecked. His already worn jeans are torn and bloody, his shirts are in a similar state. In the dim light from the streetlights, some of the blood stains look like they’d be fatal on a human. That Cas has those now, when he didn’t earlier… “What happened?”

It’s not a giggle, but Dean’s not sure what else to call it. It has a distinct tinge of insanity to it though, so maybe giggle fits. “Cas? Buddy, what’s up?”

He circles around the room to where Cas is facing. His front is even worse somehow-- slashes and burns and bullet wounds-- and his head is hanging so low Dean can’t even see his face and he’s had nightmares that started like this, or maybe ended, and…

Dropping his gun, Dean kneels in front of Cas, runs his hands over his arms and shoulders. “Cas. Come on, talk to me.” His hands are coated in blood when he pulls them back, but he can’t find the source. “Man, you’re really scaring me here.”

Cas lifts his face to look at Dean. It’s terrifying, rivulets of blood running down his face, eyes blackening, his mouth awash in blood.

He doesn’t think, simply grabs Cas and pulls him close, shouting for Sam to find some towels, bandages, anything to help stop the bleeding. Cas’s eyes catch the light oddly, but he ignores it, too busy trying to save him.

Cas’s head explodes, drenching him in blood and brain matter and bone shards.

Shocked, Dean releases Cas’s body, letting it fall back to the floor. What… how… Sam is suddenly in front of him, pulling him away from the body. Slowly, he tunes back in to what Sam is babbling.

“...Dean, I had to. It wasn’t Cas, I swear to you, it wasn’t. I would never, not Cas. It was a shapeshifter or something, not Cas. Dean, c’mon, man. Punch me if you gotta, but it wasn’t Cas.”

Weakly, he taps Sam, pushing at his shoulder. “If it wasn’t Cas, then what the fuck was it?”

Sam shrugs, “I don’t know. I tried to tell you, but you didn’t even hear me.” He leaves Dean leaning against the staircase before inspecting the body. “Silver took it out, eyes reflected light back like a cat.”

“Shapeshifter?” Dean pauses, leans against the wall. “Never heard of one able to make up wounds like that though.”

“What wounds? This thing is in perfection condition. Except for the headshot.”

“No way.” Dean clambers to his feet. “He-- it was covered in cuts, burns. My hands were covered in blood.” Looking at the body though, there’s no evidence of any of it. Except for the missing bits of skull, there’s nothing wrong. Not even a scraped knee or a torn cuticle. “I… what the _fuck_?”

Carefully, Sam bends down and prods at the things mouth. “Vampire fangs.” Something else catches his eye and he picks up the arm closest to him. He nearly stabs himself on the spike that emerges from the wrist. “On a fucking wraith. What the hell?”

Dean shakes his head. “No idea. Maybe Eve’s creating something new. Seems like her sort of gig.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Nodding, Dean picks up his gun and heads back into the kitchen to grab their other weapons, trying very hard to not think about Not-Cas lying dead in the living room.

They’re several blocks away, grimly heading towards the warehouse they think Eve has holed up in, when there’s the sudden growl of a large engine behind them. Dean flips around immediately, facing whatever new threat’s behind them.

Instead, the Impala sits in the center of the road with Cas behind the wheel. It’s too dark to tell for sure, but Dean is pretty sure this one is real, or at least not a shifter-wraith-vampire hybrid thing. Cas rolls down the window to wave before shifting the car into drive.

Dean doesn’t even try to hide his relief when the car catches up with them. “Hey, Cas. You okay?”

“Hello, Dean.” There’s an almost infinitesimal pause. “I owe you an apology.”

“Whatever, man. I’m just glad you’re back.” Dean heads towards the trunk. He doesn’t waste anytime switching out the machete and grabbing a sawed-off from the trunk before loading even more into a duffle he tosses over his shoulder. He feels stupidly over-armed, but given what they’re probably walking into, he’s probably underprepared.

Sam does the same thing next to him, reloading his pistol with silver, grabbing a shotgun and a machete while Cas shoulders a bag, presumably that has everything he needs for his part of this. Closing and locking the trunk, Dean sighs. “I guess we’re doing this.”

 

 

It takes little more than the barest brush against Dean’s soul before he’s fully powered, more than he’s been in months, possibly years. His grace crackles now, pulsing. It’s near euphoric being able to flit away without thought.

Castiel tries to go directly to Eve, to end this once and for all but he’s blocked. Whatever she has surrounded herself with bounces him away, no matter how he approaches her.

Eventually, he tires of it. This is going to require the Winchesters after all. First though, they will need additional resources.

“Cas, what are you doing here?” Bobby calls from the kitchen when he appears in the study. “Where’s the boys?”

“In Detroit, preparing to face Eve.”

Bobby stares at him, raising an eyebrow. “And you left them there.”

“It is far more efficient for me to travel alone than to bring them with me.”

“Right.” he he says flatly. “And Ben and Lisa?”

“Traveling south back to their house. There was no need to bring them anywhere once they were on the road.”

“Not when you’re all angel’d up anyway. Idjit.” Bobby turns away, muttering under his breath.

Castiel thinks about responding to the clearly audible complaints about angel dicks, but he has been away from Dean for long enough.

It’s only when he’s flying back to Detroit, the first reaction to over-powered grace fading, that he remembers that he didn’t say goodbye to Dean, or make plans for what to do if they got separated. He can only hope that Sam and Dean will either wait for him or leave a note with their plan.

They do neither. He only finds them because he followed the straight path towards Eve. They’re covered in blood and limping, but there’s no time to heal them.

The three of them spend the last mile on foot, in near constant combat. Werewolves, wraiths, and ghouls are hiding in every dark corner and alley, attacking as soon as they’re within range.

More than once, he has to yell for Dean and Sam to close their eyes, releasing pure grace to keep from being overwhelmed. It’s exhausting but he doesn’t know how else to handle it.

Dean has fallen silent, slipping between open spaces with lethal ease, Sam across from him as they approach the warehouse, taking out as many monsters as they can. Eve has to know they’re coming now, there’s no way she’s missed the rapidly expanding hole in her network, but there’s no change in her defenses.

Distracted by his thoughts, Castiel doesn’t even see the skinwalker before it’s on him, a giant black dog jumping at his chest and knocking him down, teeth at his throat. He tries to buck it off, but he doesn’t have any leverage.

Castiel scrambles for his dropped knife, a rock, anything to get himself free. The skinwalker has picked its ambush well-- there’s nothing within reach.

There’s a grunt behind him, the sound of something getting thrown into a wall. Suddenly, Sam tackles the dog away from him, carrying it far enough for Castiel to find his dropped blade. Staggering to his feet, he plunges it into the skinwalker’s chest, watching it morph back into its human form beneath Sam.

Dean’s startled yell distracts him. He’s surrounded, three dogs nipping at him, moving fast enough that he can’t get a shot off. Castiel takes a quick breath and rushes them, barrelling one of them away from Dean.

Sam must see an opening, because as soon as Castiel is clear, he takes a shot. One of them is hit, the dull slap of flesh dropping to the road. Dean rushes over to Castiel, sinking a knife into the skinwalker’s chest. He can hear its heart shredding itself against the blade before morphing back to human form.

Pushing the body to the side, Castiel climbs to his feet. He doesn’t see any further movement, and all the skinwalkers within view are dead or dying. “Dean, Sam?”

Dean groans before standing up, stepping around the growing blood pool from the dead bodies that surround him. “Fuck, I hate this shit. What’s the fucking point? They have to know that they’re gonna die.”

Behind him, Sam shrugs. “Do they have a choice? Us or Eve, which is worse?”

“Cas, you ready to finish this?”

Castiel takes stock, double checks that he has everything they need, enough power to perform the spell. Blowing a breath out, he nods. “Yes. Let’s move on.” Stifling the parts of him that want to drag Dean into a passionate embrace or call Lisa or do _anything_ other than walk into the building ahead of them, he turns, walking down the street.

There’s no further resistance. Either Eve has ordered her children to stay away or their fear of the Winchesters is greater than their devotion to Eve. The streets are utterly abandoned. Hiking his bag up on his shoulder, he readies his blade just in case something attacks that he can’t sense.

He stays at the front while Sam and Dean scout around the building, double checking the entrances and possible exits. The only windows are high up on the walls, useless for escape. The entrances are easily locked and barred. Sam returns briefly to confirm his role before going back to the bay doors at the back of the building.

Castiel makes quick work of the front door lock, letting them into the abandoned foyer and front desk. Looking around, Dean silently points behind the security desk with its intact monitors. Quickly, Castiel pulls out his phone and texts Sam to let him know _._

He’s barely set down his bag when there’s a swarm of movement across the monitors. Dean sees it too and stiffens where he’s leaning against the edge of the desk. Castiel hears him breathe out quickly before reaching for the pistols he’s left on the desktop.

“Cas, keep going, no matter what.”

He nods, “Don’t be stupid.” Reaching for the chalk in the bag, he starts drawing the sigils he needs for the spell.

Halfway through the third one, the power cuts out, killing the security cameras and plunging the entire room into darkness. Muted gunshots from the back of the building, where Sam is supposed to be. Castiel flinches, but keeps drawing.

The emergency lights come up after a few moments, deepening the shadows and turning everything blood red.

Dean stands in front of him, gun at the ready.

In the space of a blink, the room fills with creatures of every type, leaving a path open. Castiel blindly tosses herbs and candles into the bowl, going as fast as he can.

There’s a silent exhale and time stops.

He can’t breathe, the air too heavy for his lungs. Dean sinks slowly to the floor beside him. Eve’s appearance is almost anti-climatic-- a young woman in her late teens, early twenties, dark haired and wearing a sundress-- picking her way through her court to face Castiel. She cannot possibly be a danger, even as she sucks all the light from the room. Even the red glow of the emergency lights gathers around her, illuminating nothing but her form and the slightest glint off Dean’s gun.

“Castiel.” Carelessly, she waves her hand and the tension is broken, creatures inhaling and breathing as normal. “What are you doing?” Her form has changed from the last time he saw her, guarding her children’s crib, but her voice is the same-- quiet and measured.

Swallowing, Castiel ignores her in favor of the next step in the spell. He slashes his arm open from wrist to elbow, willing it to cut deep enough. It pours out, drenching the herbs in blood and grace. He looks back up once it’s started, meeting Eve’s shocked eyes. “This is not your world. You cannot take it.”

“It was mine. It will be again.” She chuckles. “You always were my favorite of Father’s watchers.” Her eyes fasten onto the rapidly filling bowl. “So eager to please me, to do whatever was needed for the boys.”

“I… I don’t remember.” He glances again at Dean. “You were exiled. I will not stand against our father’s will. Not in this.” The grace has slowed to a trickle, leaving him weaker than he has ever been, but the bowl is filled to the brim, a single candle floating on top.

“I was. For using the gifts I was given, for loving my family, for thinking for myself.” She looks behind her, at the dozens of creatures surrounding them. “Knowledge he forbade us, but never our gifts.”

Dean’s finger twitches on the trigger, a single shot that shatters the silence.

Immediately, Cas uses the last of his grace to light the candle, holding the words of the spell in his mind. The candle flame is drowned out by the light of his grace. In the darkness surrounding them, however, it is the warmth of the flame that is picked up and reflected off every surface, coalescing into a single point, bound by grace, expanding and reflecting upon itself hundreds, thousands of times until the very center _tears_.

The air is sucked out of the room, into Purgatory, taking with it everything that belongs there.

It’s beautiful.

The silent court Eve holds in her thrall disintegrates. The youngest are the first ones dragged through, tearing the passage open further with each body that passes. It takes a split second for the creatures to realize what is happening, to start shoving each other towards the portal, tripping and scrambling in their rush to escape.

Cas lunges forward, grabbing hold of Dean’s jacket, dragging him fully behind the desk, out of the sucking wind.

Eve stares at it in disbelief. “No. I won’t go back. You can’t, Castiel. You’re a protector.”

He doesn’t have a chance to respond. Dean shoots again, the crack barely heard over the roar of the wind, hitting Eve in the shoulder. She stumbles backwards, trips over a vampire’s sprawled leg and... disappears.

Cas watches as another creature is pulled through, mesmerized by the play of the lights in the wind, how the darkness and void interact with creation.

“Cas. Cas. Castiel!” Dean punches him in the shoulder, pulling his attention away to where Dean is screaming in his ear. “We gotta close it. How do we close it?”

“The bowl. Into the portal.” Briefly, he wonders how long he’s been yelling, it doesn’t seem like it should be taking this long. His attention wanders, back to the portal that’s starting to pull inanimate objects in as well as vampires and ghouls. It’s marvelous, light and dark juxtaposed over each other, mini-whirlpools like postcards from his father at the beginning of time.

A heavy bronze bowl flies across the room, slinging debris and blood and grace until it hits the portal and disappears.

The light winks out, leaving only the emergency lights. Instantly, everything drops, including Cas.

“Cas, you with me?” Dean jostles him. “Anything else?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s closed now. There’s nothing else.”

Dean nods and climbs to his feet. “Okay. I’m going to find Sam. You stay here, alright?”

Flopping his head back against the wall, Cas nods. Rolling his head to the side, he looks at his arm, raw and unhealed.

Dean follows his gaze. “Holy shit, Cas. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’ll heal. I just need to give it time.”

“No shit.” Dean shucks his flannel and carefully wraps it around his arm. “Keep that tight. I’ll be right back.”

Letting his eyes drift shut, Cas nods. “I know.”

 

 

Cas doesn’t even flinch when Dean shoots the remaining monsters in the head with silver bullets and then chops their heads off. He barely feels capable of combat right now, he can’t imagine they do either, but better safe than sorry.

The entire warehouse is full of dazed and dying monsters. They pay him no attention, focusing more on taking care of their own family groups over a random interloper. He does the same, ignoring anything that isn’t outright attacking him.

He finds Sam wedged into a corner of the loading dock, bodies strewn around him. He looks exhausted, but nothing a hot shower and sleep won’t fix. “Sammy, you okay?”

Sam inhales sharply, lifts his machete like he’s getting ready to swing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dean skips back a couple steps, drops his own machete and sticks his pistol into the back of his jeans. “Sam, it’s Dean. Weapons down, little brother.”

“Silver.” Sam grates out.

“Alright.” Dean nods, pulls the appropriate knife from his belt. “Look, Sam.” He cuts a line across the back of his arm, shallow enough that he’ll still have use of the arm.

Sam watches carefully before slumping down. Cursing, Dean rushes to his side, stepping over and around the bodies that surround him. Getting a shoulder under Sam’s arm, he levers them both up and towards the door.

He nearly trips over one of the bodies, the head lolling to face them. Looking down, Dean jumps back in time to avoid his boot meeting his own face. Glancing around, he finally sees why Sam was so freaked out-- they’re _all_ wearing his face. They’re surrounded by dozens of dead Dean clones.

Carefully, he guides them back to where Cas is still lying, half conscious. Dean deposits Sam on the floor next to Cas, leaves all but one pistol within their reach before taking off for the car. There’s no telling how long this artificial peace will last, they need to get out of here quick.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean’s riding the last of his adrenaline rush by the time they get to Cicero and Lisa’s house, in that weird stage where he’s too tired to think, but too wired to sleep. Dean doesn’t think about it when he pulls into the drive, just carefully supports them both into the kitchen.

Lisa’s drinking coffee like it’s her job. It doesn’t look like she’s been to bed yet, although she has gotten cleaned up. They still manage to startle her where she’s staring at the broken and covered window. “Dean!”

Dean waves awkwardly with his free hand while guiding Cas to the stool at the counter. “Hey, Lis. Um… can you grab your first aid kit?” Sam bypasses the kitchen altogether, barely kicking his shoes off before flopping face first into the couch.

Lisa looks at him, momentarily confused before her eyes clear. “Right. First aid kit. Yeah.” She takes a brief moment to lean over and kiss them both on the cheek before fleeing upstairs.

Grabbing a washcloth from the drawer and wetting it, Dean gently unwraps the ruined flannel from Cas’s arm. It immediately starts sluggishly bleeding again, the barely formed scabs coming off with the fabric.

Lisa is back before he’s finished wiping the blood away, staring anxiously at Cas’s arm while Dean pulls what he knows he needs from the kit. It takes several deep breaths for his hands to stop shaking long enough to open the gauze and then they start again.

Fuck.

Taking the gauze from him, Lisa pushes Dean onto the other stool before squaring up in front of Cas and pulling his arm towards her.

Dean unabashedly steals her coffee-- he’s still too wired to sleep, what’s some more caffeine?-- and watches Lisa finish cleaning Cas up. “He might need stitches. He went pretty deep.”

“Fucking hell, Dean, what was he doing? Cas, what were you doing?”

Cas blinks slowly. Dean shakes his head and fills a glass with water. “Drink that, Cas.” Nodding, Cas takes the water in his other hand and starts sipping at it.

Picking through the kit, Dean pulls out the rest of the gauze and tape. “Exiling Eve. He needed to get his grace out, all of it, and maybe some blood? I don’t know.” Blankly, he watches as she bandages Cas.

It takes both of them to move Cas upstairs and into bed. Immediately, Cas curls up on his side, arm stretched out and waiting. Dean lets Lisa push him into the shower before they both climb into the bed behind Cas.

The last thing Dean remembers before sleep is stretching his arm over them both.

 

Sam rolls off an unfamiliar couch when his phone rings.

Blinking at the ceiling, he flails for the phone, banging his hand and arm on various surfaces. The ringing stops for a moment before starting again. This time, he manages to find it after only three rings. “Hello?”

“What are you damn idjits trying to do? Give me a goddamn heart attack?”

Sam pulls the phone away from his ear as Bobby continues to rant. “Bobby, I don’t… Slow down.”

“At least you’re fucking alive. What about your brother and the other idjits?”

“We’re at Lisa’s. I don’t… what _time_ is it?”

“Time for you to tell me you’re not part of the _giant cluster_ that’s happening in Detroit right now.”

Sam looks at the screen on his phone, quarter to seven. “Bobby, we’ve been here for… maybe two hours. If it’s not going to kill us, it can wait.” Hitting the ‘End’ button, Sam tosses his phone halfway across the room. Pushing himself to his feet, he uses the bathroom and collapses back onto the couch.

 

 

Nikki and Sid, bless them, arranged for the kitchen window to be replaced while Lisa was off galavanting. The contractors come to take care of that on the second day. By dusk, her house was back in one piece.

Getting her family back that way is going to take longer. For the first time, Lisa understands why Dean walks the house all night, checking and rechecking the locks and bolts, the sigils and salt lines. She catches herself doing it too, before spending the night watching Ben sleep.

Ben’s dealing with all this as well as can be expected for an eleven year old, alternating between fierce independence and clinging to her or Cas, sometimes Sam. He doesn’t cling to Dean, but they spend a lot of time together out in the garage.

Dean checks on her throughout the night, picking her up at some point and carrying her to bed instead of fitfully dozing on a kitchen chair in Ben’s room. In the mornings, she wakes up curled next to Cas, their bodies fit together like a puzzle.

Dean’s never there.

Every morning, she and Cas find him downstairs, already showered and making breakfast or working on something around the house. It’s like the last six months didn’t happen. He’s barely speaking, focused on protecting them, on making sure he’s useful. He’s not drinking, the only improvement from last May.

Lisa puts her foot down when it’s been a week and she still hasn’t seen Dean sleep.

She tells Sam to take Ben to pick up his missed assignments at school with whispered instructions to take as long as possible, go to the library, the grocery store, whatever. Just take a few hours. Sam looks at her blankly for a moment before he nods rapidly, shepherding Ben out in front of him and into Dean’s truck.

With them gone, it’s suddenly a lot easier to pull Dean and Cas into the bedroom and push them onto the bed. “You two, sit down. We need to talk.”

Dean’s face falls immediately. “Just give me a few minutes, I’ll get the last of my stuff together and Cas’s and,” he swallows. “And we’ll be gone as soon as Sam’s back.”

“Jesus, Dean. Will you stop thinking I’m gonna break up with you just because something’s gone wrong? We need to talk about how you’ve been acting, yeah, but--” Suddenly she’s filled with doubt too. “Unless you want out. If that’s what’s been going on…”

“That’s what’s best. Ben has to come first. I nearly got him killed and…”

“That wasn’t your fault and yeah, I never want it to happen again but…”

They’re babbling over each other, offers and counter-offers, and she doesn’t know what she’s saying anymore, just she doesn’t want Dean out of her life, and Cas is welcome too, of course he is and…

Cas is naked.

Somehow she and Dean both had missed him stripping off his clothes, tossing them into the basket at the bedroom door and lying back on the bed. “Dean, Lisa wants you here. Lisa, Dean wants to be here.” He holds a hand out to Lisa and leans over to kiss Dean. “Stop talking past each other. I believe we have the house to ourselves. Maybe we can do something else?”

Lisa nearly trips trying to climb onto the bed and lose her pants at the same time. Dean a few seconds behind her.

Stretched out beside Cas, trading kisses and caresses, this is the best she’s felt in _weeks_.

Somehow, she ends up in the center, Dean and Cas making out over her while hands wander across and between bodies. Arcing up, she starts kissing anything she can reach, that spot behind Dean’s ear, the underside of Cas’s jaw.

Things shift.

Making out with Dean while he rolls a condom down Cas’s cock so she can ride him. Grabbing a hold of the headboard for balance, Lisa pauses a moment to watch them kiss.

The moment breaks.

She shifts her hips and suddenly she’s riding Cas for all she can. Dean’s fingers stroking her nipples and clit, holding her steady as she shudders apart.

Cas is still hard, rutting against her hip when she falls to one side. Dean leans over to kiss her, then Cas. She watches his hand as it drops down, pulls the condom off Cas while his other hand starts working her clit before he moves down the bed to swallow Cas’s cock. It’s his turn to arc up, straining. Lisa kisses Cas deeply, fingers pressing into his hips, keeping him still. Cas comes with a groan, babbling in a language she doesn’t understand.

Backing off slightly to give Cas room to breathe, Lisa finds herself pushed back to the bed, knees pushed up and to the side. Dean grins up at them both, licking his lips before finding her slit. Dean’s tongue and fingers work tandem. He stops short of her coming, pulling away and pushing her onto her side. Closing her eyes, she trades kisses with Cas and trusts Dean to take care of them.

Kissing turns lazy, mouths meeting over and over again, breathless. Dean tears open a condom behind her, a brief pause while he rolls it on, and then he’s spooned up behind her, kissing the back of her neck and reaching over her hip to reach her clit while his cock nudges its way inside. It only takes a couple of thrusts before they’re both coming, falling apart onto the bed.

They stay there for a few minutes, cuddling in the afterglow, straining to stay in contact. Lisa dozes for a few minutes, secure between them, waking up when Dean starts to peel himself away.

Reaching back to grab his hand, Lisa mutters, “No. Stay.”

Chuckling quietly, Dean kisses her ear, “Need to get cleaned up, babe. Sam and Ben will be home eventually.”

Cas rolls away groaning. “Shower?”

“Yep. Then food.”

“And coffee.”

“Sure.”

Lisa pouts in the center of the bed for a moment before following them into the shower. At least they’re all on the same page now. They’re here, this is still homebase.

 

 

They drive to Sioux Falls for Thanksgiving, split between the Impala and Dean’s truck. Cas suspects it might soon be Sam’s truck. He is certainly the one driving it for most of the drive west, Ben beside him.

They arrive Tuesday evening, invading Bobby’s house with bursts of color and cold air. This is the first time in years they’ve celebrated anything, let alone actually managed to get together, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling out of place.

He’s not human, even if it seems like it. He doesn’t belong here, among their celebrations. He should be out… doing something to ease humanity’s suffering. If only he knew where to start.

Sam finds him, brooding in the yard, long after they’ve gotten everyone settled. Handing Cas a beer, he stands next to him, looking at the snow covered cars. “Want to tell me what’s up with you?”

Cas shrugs, wincing as his shirt rubs against the still healing cut on his arm. “I don’t want to ruin the holiday.”

Sam raises an eyebrow while taking a sip of his beer.

“I’m cut off from Heaven, many of the abilities inherent in being an angel are weakened because of that.” Cas sighs. “It’s worse than when they did it before. I should have said something but…” But he shouldn’t be here at all, Dean should have left him in the warehouse with Eve, should have--

“And? Cas, that’s bullshit.”

Cas is silent.

“Aw, come on, Cas. You know this. What you’ve got going on with Dean and Lisa, the way you look after Bobby and Ben? You’re my brother. Don’t think we’re gonna kick you out just because your birth family are a bunch of dicks.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Imposing is what family is for. Now, c’mon. Dean wants to watch Indiana Jones again and I need someone on my side to watch _anything_ else.”

“Maybe Ben will side with you.” Cas smirks, finally taking a drink of his beer and turning back to the house. “I find the use of a bullwhip in an archaeological setting fascinating.”

Sam’s right, of course. He has a place here, with this family, just as much as he did in Heaven. Possibly more of one. Unfortunately, that knowledge doesn’t kill the anxiety. They say his falling doesn’t matter now, but what if one of them gets hurt?

He is in the middle again, during the movie and all during the night. He doesn’t know if Dean and Lisa are doing it on purpose, but it’s reassuring all the same.

They all take turns answering the phones on Wednesday and running errands for Lisa and Dean while they start preparing dinner for Thursday. Ben bounces around, always staying close, but helping with dinner, tagging along on the occasional errand and getting caught up on his schoolwork.

Jody calls mid-afternoon, theoretically to ask about something that might be a case a few towns over, but also to invite Bobby to Thanksgiving dinner. Cas looks at their full house and thinks about how, a year ago, her house was full too.

“Dean, can we fit in one more? Sheriff Mills…”

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Dinner’s at two.”

“Sheriff, if you’d like to join us, you’re welcome to.”

“Cas, it’s a family holiday.”

Dean makes grabby motions at the phone, shoving it between his ear and shoulder while he continues to peel potatoes. “Dinner’s at two. Bring whatever you’d like to drink.” Dropping his current potato, he hits the end button and hands the phone back to Cas.

Cas laughs and puts the receiver back on its cradle before moving next to the stove, soaking up Dean and Lisa’s warmth and love.

They have a full table the next day: the six of them, Jody, and a female hunter who showed up wanting to use Bobby’s books. Cas only teases Sam a little about his rusty ASL and sudden desire to digitize the books on banshees and other Irish fae. He leaves them to it, far more interested in helping Dean and Lisa and subtly watching Bobby flirt with Jody.

They trade jokes and stories, filling the room with love and affection. Slowly, Cas feels the tight feeling in his chest-- where he was terrified that this family too would reject him-- relax and be soothed. They won’t, even if he’s little more than human now.

Instead, they’ll take care of each other like they always have.

Saving people, hunting monsters. The family business.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Blue Moon Rising by treefrogie84](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433663) by [Mayalaen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayalaen/pseuds/Mayalaen)




End file.
